Dark as the Dawn
by holdingusback
Summary: WWII: A time of mass destruction and peril that claimed the lives of thousands of young soldiers willing to give their life for their country. This one young soldier in particular just so happens to be the future Earl of Grantham, and with so much at stake, has chosen to leave his family and fortune behind in exchange for a life of war. Centered around George, Matthew & Mary.
1. The Moment After the Good One

**What a dramatic little title that is.**

**Hello! This is my first official multi-chapter story I've ever posted on here, and I hope it does Downton Abbey and my favorite characters justice as well as the characters I've gotten to create through writing this. Obviously this is an AU because my baby is alive and well, so just pretend that all that crap from the last thirty seconds of season 3 never happened.**

**I'm a very big WWII junkie, which makes combining one of my favorite tv shows with the incredible history of that war incredible to write. Right now I already have 6 chapters written, so the only thing that should stand in the way between updates is just going back and editing anything I don't like, and maybe school. Thanks for checking it out and ya know, review or favorite maybe?  
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**Also, I've put all the ages that the characters are at the beginning of this story below because I know when I read a fanfiction and don't know how old the characters are it drives me nuts. (special thanks to the Downton Abbey wikia page for that) I'll probably continue to do that for any main characters that appear as well.  
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* * *

_Mary Crawley age 48 _

_Matthew Crawley age 54_

_George Crawley age 18, born September 3__rd__, 1921 __**(yeah it says born between 9th &amp; 30th of September on the wikia page but it's more dramatic this way so bare with me)**_

_Elizabeth Crawley age 17, born 1922 _

_Christopher Crawley age 14, born 1925_

_Nicholas Crawley age 12, born 1927_

_Robert Crawley age 73_

_Cora Crawley age 71_

_Anna Bates age 53_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_3 September, 1939_

The acres of lawn were covered in dew as Nicholas treaded through the grass, collecting the beads of water on the bottom of his boots. Sunrise peaked from over the trees, hitting his face with the gentle glow of a new day. He finished off the piece of toast he'd managed to swipe from the kitchens and proceeded towards the stables.

His favorite horse, Maggie, was already waiting for him, sticking her head out of the stall and nibbling on his hat.

"C'mon now, Maggie," he scolded gently, taking the tweed cap from her mouth. Nicholas dropped some hay in the trough and waited for her to finish her breakfast whilst he chatted idly to the horse. Sometimes he swore she understood his meaningless talk. Although if that proved to be true, this horse knew way too much. "It's George's birthday today," Nick began, leaning against the opposite stall. "He turns eighteen. I think he's lucky. I mean, he's almost an adult, and when you're an adult you can do anything you want. Life is a lot easier when you're older. You don't have anybody to discipline you, you're rather self-reliant…you can go to bed when you want," he said with the childlike excitement his parents swore he had, yet he denied. Nicholas shook his head, longing for the days that he could slip out of his home in the early morning without fear of being caught and scolded. Maggie neighed and nodded her head enthusiastically, letting him know that she was ready for their morning route. "Alright, let's go then," he answered her, grabbing the saddle off the wall and opening the stall. Soon they were breezing across the acres of land that promised the beginning of a peaceful day.

After a good five minute sprint to the top of his favorite hill, Nicholas let Maggie rest while he looked over the grounds, watching the sun bathe his home in pale orange light. If he was honest with himself, Nick was jealous of his older brother not just for all the factors that came with adulthood, but because he knew George would one day inherit the estate he so loved to look over every morning.

Nicholas didn't understand much about inheritance except for the basics that his mother and father taught him; that one day in the far future, when their father has died, the eldest son inherits their house and gets to run everything along with it. To him it couldn't sound dismal no matter how hard anyone tried to make it sound serious or difficult. His brother however looked upon it as the sole purpose he'd been put on this planet. Since the day he found out what inheritance was George became his grandfather's shadow, eager to know everything there was to run an estate. Nicholas soon found his older brother to become more and more dull as the years went on as the pressure became more and more evident in his features. He couldn't understand why George worried about it so much, their grandfather was still much alive and their father was only middle-aged, he had decades before it would be his time to step up and take the spot of his father.

"Come on, Maggie," Nick spoke softly. "We should get back before anyone notices we're gone."

* * *

Matthew Crawley squinted at the morning light that suddenly filled the room with curtains were drawn back. Beside him, Mary buried her face deeper into the crook of his neck in a feeble attempt to block out the dreadful morning light.

"Good morning, Anna," Mary groaned.

"Good morning, milady," Anna replied, setting the tray of breakfast at the end of the bed.

"Is Nicholas back from his ride yet?" Matthew asked. Anna linked her hands in front of her and smirked.

"I believe so. One of the kitchen maids said she saw him and Maggie returning about a half hour ago."

"Alright, thank you, Anna," he replied. Anna nodded and made her way towards the door only to stop short.

"Oh, and give Master George our best wishes for his eighteenth birthday."

Mary's heart sank just a little. "Thank you, we will."

Once Anna had gone, Matthew kissed the top of Mary's head, wrapping both arms around her. "I can feel the nostalgia radiating from you."

Mary leaned back to half-heartedly smirk at him then resumed the frown etched in her porcelain features. "He's so grown up, Matthew. Our son is eighteen."

"He is…and he's a very wonderful young man." Matthew sat up, and she followed, silence ringing out a long moment. "We've made a good life, you know," he stated proudly. "We have four children, this home, a fortune, and each other…and we actually like each other…which is more than most married people could say," he tilted his head to look at her, smiling softly. She pondered him for a moment, realizing he was right.

"You're right…we're very lucky. Sometimes I honestly don't know how we got to be so lucky, I feel like I don't deserve a bit of it," Mary replied, exasperated. Matthew grinned, throwing back the covers and padding over to the tray Anna left behind. "You do deserve it, darling," he said, picking up the tray and setting it in front of her. "You deserve every bit of it." With this he leaned over and gave her a loving kiss, stroking her cheek with this thumb. "I'll see you in a little while."

"I'll be down soon, I want to see George before he leaves for the village this morning and mourn that my son is too old for my liking and that I'm getting old as well," Mary said solemnly, beginning to eat the breakfast before her.

Matthew simply chuckled. "My darling, you could never be old to me."

Mary cocked an eyebrow at him and sipped her tea. "Now you're just being flattering."

"And what is wrong with that?" he questioned, crossing his arms with an amused expression.

"Nothing, as long as you're not expecting anything from it," she replied slyly, making Matthew wickedly grin in return. He paused before retaliating.

"Flattery with expectations is below me. I simply wish to remind you of the affections I have, that are as strong as the day I married you. Is that wrong of me?" he stood before her, groggy and grinning, his hair tousled from sleep, as beautiful and good and loving as he'd been all his life, and she could hardly remember loving him more.

"No, I suppose not," Mary answered, returning from her stupor as he headed for the dressing room door. "Although, wanting something out of it now and again isn't so bad."

Together nineteen years and she could still catch him off guard. Fighting the urge to act on impulse and return back to bed with her, he shook his head and made a mental note of it. "I'll be sure to keep it in mind."

* * *

Mornings were not Elizabeth's strong suit. She frankly hated everything about them. Most days she refused to even go down to breakfast due to the fact that she had to wake and be dressed all before the crisp hour of 8 o'clock. But this morning she had actually made an effort to wake when Hannah came in to do so, dressed, and was at the breakfast table before any of her family.

Elizabeth ate her breakfast slowly, waiting patiently for her family to finally come down. The footmen entered then, carrying a variety of trays and setting them on the table against the wall. They seemed startled to see her down here so early and nodded to her. "Milady," Michael stated.

"Good morning, Michael…Andrew," she addressed the other, dark haired, blue-eyed boy. Andrew smiled before continuing with his work. Mr. Clark was the next to be surprised to see her sitting there alone as well.

"Good morning, milady," he said, taking the morning newspaper off the tray he was carrying and setting next to the silverware her grandfather would be using.

"Good morning, Clark. Am I terribly early for breakfast?" Elizabeth asked, earning a small smile from Mr. Clark.

"Only a few minutes, Lady Elizabeth. Lord Grantham and Mr. Crawley are normally down the same time every day." As if on cue, her father appeared behind Clark, smiling when he saw her.

"Hello, what are you doing down here so early?" Matthew asked, seating himself across from her.

"Can't I wake up early and join my family for breakfast?" she replied nearly sarcastically, smirking.

Matthew chuckled. "Not since you were Christopher's age you haven't."

She could not deny that, both her younger brothers seemed to be early risers - earlier than most of the servants. "Yes, that is true." Elizabeth paused a long while whilst she took a bite of egg. "Truth be told I wanted to see George before he went off to the village this morning and wish him a happy birthday."

Matthew smiled. Like mother like daughter.

"That's nice of you. He should be down soon. He normally follows not too far behind me," he replied, beginning to eat as well.

Elizabeth noticed her father freeze his actions, staring at the newspaper beside him. Matthew put down his fork and knife and reached for the paper.

"Papa? What is it?" she stopped her actions as well, heart sinking from the concern in her father's features. His eyes quickly scanned pages, face laced with anxiety. He pondered the information a moment before putting on a smile and replacing the paper to its spot on the table.

"Nothing, darling. Nothing to concern you with."

Elizabeth could easily tell that whatever her father had just read was not "nothing," but decided it wise not to pry. She knew from experience if it was very serious her parents would discuss it and even sometimes her grandparents, and with time she would find out. It _was_ how she found out about both of her little brothers.

He felt nervous for some reason. It's not like turning eighteen would change anything. He would still be living at Downton, still live his life in the same day-to-day fashion, still practice the piano, ride with his brothers, tease his sister…but for some reason today felt different. Something about this day made him uneasy, placing a rather large knot in his stomach. George looked in the mirror, straightening his tie, fixing his hair. He dismissed his feeling of uneasiness as just the pressure of growing older and went down to breakfast.

"We must hope and pray it won't happen, Matthew." George froze on the stairs, hearing his grandfather and father around the corner at the bottom. He slowly eased down the stairs further, listening intently.

"But what if it does? What if it happens all over again? I don't think I could bear it. It was bad enough last time, but this time –"

"You cannot dwell right now, my boy. We'll know well enough in a few hours."

"George?" his mother's voice startled him out of the stone his body had become. She hurried down the stairs and met him on the platform, placing both hands to his cheeks with the proud smile George knew she reserved for only her children. "Happy birthday, darling. How grown up you are."

"Thank you, mother. Although, I don't feel very grown up yet," he joked as she kissed his cheek. They both turned and continued down the stairs, greeted at the bottom by Lord Grantham and Matthew; both pale with fear and worry lining every part of them and both putting on bright smiles for their sake.

"Good morning, and happy birthday, George," Robert spoke up to them, pursing his lips a moment.

"Thank you, grandfather," he answered with a courteous smile, trying so desperately to decipher what was going on.

"I do believe breakfast is being served, should we join?" The flustered Lord Grantham suggested.

"Of course," Mary replied hesitantly. George glanced towards his mother next to him on the platform and could immediately tell she was in the same position he was, her eyes flickering from one man to the other in attempt to figure out what was the matter. With no further evidence, they both descended the rest of the wooden stairs and proceeded towards the dining room.

"Might I speak to you?" Matthew tried near her ear quietly, causing her to stop dead in her tracks and follow him into the library.

"Matthew, what is it?" she pleaded, truly frightened by the fear of the brave man before her. Matthew paced between wall and couch a few times before halting, taking a deep breath, and focusing on Mary.

"You know that things have been quite tense overseas for awhile now...but they're getting much worse," he began carefully. "And it's only a matter of time before it reaches Englan-"

"Matthew, what are you trying to tell me?" Mary interrupted, his suspense driving her mad.

He let out a shaky breath, feeling his whole body tremble. "By 11 o'clock this morning war could be declared on Germany."

Mary gaped at him, stomach lurching as a lump in her throat formed. "What do you mean "could be declared?"" Her voice was low but panicked, staring at a button on his jacket.

""Could be", as in, if Germany does not agree to withdraw their invasions of Poland by 11 o'clock this morning…Britain will be declaring war on Germany." Matthew remained quiet, watching as Mary placed a shaking hand to her mouth with widened eyes. She stepped back, reaching out to the sofa for support.

After a long moment Mary lifted her head to look properly at him. "They'll take him, Matthew," she whispered.

She didn't need to say a name for him to understand who they would be taking. George was of age now.

"He won't be enlisted unless it is absolutely necessary, darling," Matthew attempted to comfort her. "Right now we must hope to God it doesn't begin at all, and we will take it as it comes." His words did little to comfort as she remained gripping the sofa, feeling numb and dizzy. "Should we tell the children?"

Mary thought for a moment before releasing her hold on the upholstery and coming back to stand by him. "No, we mustn't. Not until it's official. I don't want to worry them. I'm assuming papa and mama know?"

Matthew nodded. "Yes…I spoke to your father already and he agrees we mustn't worry until it's been confirmed."

"Are you worried?" she asked him, her eyes piercing into his. She knew the answer before he could give it.

"Of course I am. You and I know what war can bring…which terrifies me immensely."

Mary tried to take a deep breath and think positively about the potential destruction that war brought - Matthew was past the age expectancy and George would hopefully think himself too young to go off to war, he was just a boy after all. After all, George was looking forward to running the estate one day, not dying in battle. These thoughts managed to calm her, as untrue as she knew them to probably be.

* * *

_10:39…10:40…10:41_

Mary glanced around at the library. How many times had she sat in this room? How much family history did these walls hold? How many more years did this home have before it came collapsing down around them? If war was declared, what did the future hold for these walls or for the people she loved inside them?

"Mama?" Christopher's voice startled her back to reality. "Are you alright?" He asked from the settee across from her, book in hand and laying on it in a rather un-gentlemanly fashion, but Mary didn't have the heart to scold him right now.

"Yes, darling, I'm alright," she smiled at him, seeing the similar worry in Christopher's eyes as Matthew normally gave her. "You know, the Governess will be coming around soon. I know you and Nicholas hate being cooped up inside for hours upon hours so before you are why don't you go find him and go out for a, sort of, last ride of the season."

Christopher sat up, his face one of utter joy. "Do you mean it?"

Mary couldn't help but grin at him. "Of course I mean it."

"Oh thank you, Mama!" he exclaimed, jumping from the couch to kiss her cheek. "We'll be careful I promise! And we won't be back too late either!"

"I know you will. Now go on and find Nicholas."

Christopher left in a rush, leaving Mary in silence.

_10:43…10:44…10:45_

The door opened, Matthew stepping in slowly and coming to sit beside her in the quiet for a moment.

"Where is Elizabeth?" Mary asked as he took her hand firmly in his own.

"Her room, I believe. George is still in the village. Nick and Chris?"

"I told them they could go riding for a while," she could hear the optimism slipping fast from her voice.

"Good…that's good," his optimism was breaking as well. "Mary, no matter what happens, we'll be alright. Even if the walls around us crumble…everything will be alright in the end."

"Will it?" she challenged, seeking so many more words to bring comfort.

"It was last time. Things seemed so awful last time…now look at us," Matthew stated a bit shakily, eyes shining into hers. Mary could only nod in agreement when the door opened once again, Lord and Lady, arm in arm.

"Oh my darlings, I'm afraid this is too great a weight. Will the world ever meet peace?" Cora said, sitting down across from them.

Robert moved to the mantle, switching the wireless on and taking the spot beside his wife. No one had the words to answer Cora's question, mostly because they knew the answer.

They waited for endless minutes, the adverts and music on the wireless breaking the silence between them.

_10:57…10:58…10:59_

It was odd. At this moment in time, everyone was healthy, happy, and alive. The country was safe, their future set and hopeful. But in the moment after the good one, everything could change.

Chamberlain was on the wireless then, speaking clearly through the crackling wireless. The room seemed to still, all of them holding their breaths as the world moved in slow motion.

_"__This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final Note stating that, unless we heard from them by 11 o'clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us._

_I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany."_


	2. For King and Country

**Hello again! First off, a big thanks to all of those who favorited, followed and reviewed. I honestly wasn't expecting to wake up the morning after I posted the last chapter to eleven e-mails. So thank you very much, it means a lot that people really actually like this story I've been writing all summer.**

**I believe someone asked last time if we would see any of Sybil &amp; Tom or Edith and as they are mentioned in this chapter, I promise you will eventually see the Bransons, but I'm not too sure what I have planned for Edith yet.**

**Also, I wrote another chapter, which makes 7 chapters total. This particular chapter is Christmas themed and I would really like to have it up by then, so hopefully by Christmas you will have 7 chapters. It all depends on how rough this school year is, (my first day of senior year is tomorrow) rumor has it senior year is a breeze so we'll see.**

**Thanks again for reviewing and all that, enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_4 September 1939_

To say the least, the house was dismal. No one knew exactly what to do. Besides trying to comfort one another and pay close attention to the wireless and newspapers, there was nothing to be done. The country was at war yet again and who knew what was to come. No one knew who in this house would be alive when it was said and done. Only God himself knew their fates. Only God himself knew the fate of the entire population.

There was a difference in the air. It was dense and thick with prospect. Chilled and dark.

They woke slowly this morning, rustling little and watching the outside sky with little optimism of the world ahead. They both knew what war could do. But this time it was bigger, surely more violent – it already was with all of Germany's ruthless invasions. Mary felt his hand brush hers under the sheets, sending a chill through her entire body.

She bit her lip before speaking, beginning quietly. "Do you think…maybe they won't call up any younger than twenty?"

Matthew glanced to the side of her throat as she spoke, contemplating. "We can only hope. You mustn't ponder that now. Right now we have to worry about keeping all four of them safe, and the rest of the family as well. Have you spoken to Sybil or Edith yet?"

Mary sighed, watching the ceiling. "Mama spoke to Edith yesterday. She and Michael are planning to go to America for a while to stay in grandmamma's old house, which I don't see any solution in that, it's the same over there as it is here. And with three children it will be even harder…I telephoned Sybil last night. She said Tom isn't that worried, Ireland isn't a point of interest for the Germans. She also invited us up to Dublin if things get bad enough. But I don't know how well it would fit with six children and six adults in their house."

He was sitting up now, worry written in every fiber of his being, arms crossed and brow furrowed. They sat in silence a long moment before Matthew decided it was time to begin the day. He pressed a kiss to her temple and made his way for the door.

"Matthew," she called, stopping him in his tracks. "If it did come to the point where men of the age of eighteen were called up…would you allow him?"

The terror in her tone made Matthew grimace. He came to kneel before her bedside, taking her hand in his own. "My darling…I can promise you that throughout this war, I will do everything I can to protect you and our family. But if this country requires eighteen year old men to join the British Army, you must know I can do nothing about it. I can promise to do everything in my power to keep everyone under this roof safe but I cannot guarantee anything. As I said yesterday, when everything is said and done it will be alright, eventually. No matter what happens…it will be alright in the end," he made an attempt to smile but it came out as a watery frown, making her laugh briefly.

Mary stroked his cheek with her thumb, eyes brimmed with tears. "I don't know what's going to happen, Matthew, but I am so very glad I have you to go through it with."

Now he grinned, agreeing with a kiss.

* * *

They eventually all found themselves sat in the library, trying to carry out mundane tasks but all listening to the crackling words being echoed throughout the room whether or not they wanted to. Isobel sat next to Elizabeth on the settee after being invited up by Robert and Cora – feeling they shouldn't leave her on her own at this time. George sat on the floor next to Nick, Christopher lying behind the couch. Matthew couldn't quite wrap his head around it all; listening to the Prime Minister yesterday had made him wonder what others were doing. Not family or friends, just the average person with a family to take care of like he did. What would happen to that stranger he saw on the street and would most likely never see again? Would they make it through these troubling times? Even now though, as everything was tumbling and worry and fear was all that they had, with Mary next to him and his children surrounding him, he couldn't help the utter pride he felt. He was proud to be her husband. Proud to be their father. Proud to be the leader and proud to be looked at for guidance and protection.

Being in the last war had made Matthew an even kinder, braver, gentler person, rather than a frightened and angry one as it did to most that were in the trenches with him. In the trenches he had been the Captain; the leader and guide. Men had relied on him to get them out of the place they were and back home to their loved ones. Learning to care for more than just himself made him an even better father. He learned so much about compassion and loyalty and faith while in war that when he came back to reality, Matthew was better at fatherhood than he ever expected for himself. He was able to be patient with a crying child for hours; able to handle every question they ever had; able to juggle four children, running an estate, and practicing law. Easily understood, Mary was fascinated at his abilities with their children. He wasn't like most Englishman. As much as she loved her Papa, he was never as nurturing and loving with her and her sisters as Matthew was with all four of them. Matthew would lie on his stomach on the floor for hours at a time to play trains or cars with his sons. Crawl around on his hands and knees with Elizabeth on his back, forgetting all dignity, acting as a horse just to delight her.

Mary could remember the absolute joy he filled with when he first saw George. Particularly recalling him saying he felt as though he had swallowed a box of firecrackers. The bliss that had overwhelmed him was one that he would never forget, one of the happiest moments of his life. It was a well-deserved happiness after everything Matthew had been through with them and Lavinia and the war and his legs.

Matthew loved those months that is was just them, their little family of three. He glanced over to George now as he was intensely staring at the chess board in front of him, planning his next move against Nicholas. He knew what George wanted. He could read it all over his face the first moment he saw him after war had been declared. And he understood - he didn't approve - but he understood. He knew that George wanted to enlist. He was young and strong and smart and would make a very valuable soldier, but for these same reasons Matthew couldn't bear the thought of his son at war. Matthew knew what war consisted of. George was young and strong and smart and so precious to _them_. Watching him with his younger brother, or reading a book, eating dinner, laughing with his siblings; Matthew couldn't imagine his son on a battlefield, murdering or being murdered.

After dinner, when they'd all found themselves rotting in the library once more, George requested his father's presence in the corridor. His frame was tense and ready. He knew what he had to say, he'd practiced it dozens of times in his head. Matthew knew what he had to say as well, of course. This was his son; he always knew what he wanted.

"Papa," George began firmly, hands curling at his sides. "You probably already know what I'm going to say. And in my opinion it is a big thing to say and a rather important one as well. You must hear me out and understand where I'm coming from. Please do not reject my wishes at once."

Matthew waited with baited breath. His mind swirling and jaw tightened. Even though he knew what was about to leave his sons lips, it was a barrier Matthew never expected his children to have to cross. This one declaration would change everything and there was no going back from it.

"Papa, I want to enlist in the army."

There it was.

George didn't know if perhaps he should elaborate or not, keeping his lips pursed and hands clenched. Matthew took a long moment before responding, parting his lips to do so but being interrupted by the library door opening and closing.

George's heart lurched as his mother gave them a smile. "What's going on?" she asked, motherly instinct telling her immediately that something was off. Father and son remained silent, George turning back to his father. Matthew raised his eyebrows in expectation and nodded to his mother.

"You tell her."

It was Mary's turn for her heart to lurch and mind to swirl. She watched as her eldest turned to face her completely, guilt and fear now lining his every feature.

George took one look at his mother's concerned expression and was burdened with a knot as heavy as lead in the pit of his stomach. This was the woman who nurtured and cared for him as long as he could remember. She was the sole reason he couldn't even recall the name of the nanny who was meant to care for him and his siblings. The last thing he wanted to do in this world was break her heart, but this was something he so strongly believed in, therefore he tried ever so hard not to resemble the boy his mother related him with.

"Mama," he spoke softer now, rather than the harder of talking to his father. "I want to enlist in the British Army."

Mary's eyes widened her expression of pure shock. She knew she should've been expecting it but nothing could have prepared her for the revelation George had forced upon her.

"What? No!" she immediately responded. George began to protest but she didn't let him. "No, George, no! I absolutely forbid it!"

"Mama, please. Just listen-"

"I don't have to! You've just turned eighteen, they've no need for eighteen year olds!" Mary looked to Matthew in her frazzled state. "Tell him, Matthew!" she pleaded.

Like before, Matthew opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the library door opening. Only this time the rest of his family poured out, leaving him to sigh. He didn't wish to cause a family dispute.

"What's the matter?" Robert spoke first out of the library, followed by Cora, Isobel and the children.

Matthew decided to speak for George this time, letting him off after throwing him to his mother.

"George wants to enlist," he said with monotone. Every eye that had come from the library was now fixed on George.

"Dear god, my boy, why on earth would you want to do that?" Robert questioned, eyes boring into his grandson's.

"To serve my country, Grandfather. I thought you most of all would understand," George answered, sounding hurt.

Robert seemed taken aback by this, unaware that his opinion meant so much to the young man. "I do understand the want to serve, but you've only just turned eighteen and the army has only required twenty to twenty-three year olds so far."

"I know that, really, and I understand. But do you really think Britain will be able to defeat Germany with a few hundred-thousand men? Britain has one of the smallest armies among those fighting and someone has to step up to help for god's sake!" Everyone was quite startled to see George raise his voice; he had always been a very respectful boy growing up, never stepping a toe out of line. Never throwing fits or temper tantrums like other children they would pass in the street or occasionally one of his siblings. Immediately he realized he was in the wrong and frowned, disappointed in himself. "I'm sorry…but I'm just trying to make you all understand. This is so very important. I want to serve and I want to be an example to fellow men my age and I want you all to be proud of me, that's all." His glanced at Nick then lowered his head in defeat.

Matthew laid a hand on George's shoulder, the firm grip calming and angering him all the same. "Son, we are proud of you. In my opinion, you're one of the bravest men for wanting to do something that most would not. And I couldn't be any prouder. I only ask you to wait, until they really do require men your age. I can't deny I won't try and stop you even then, but all the same, please wait."

George pursed his lips and clenched his jaw, glaring at the floor. "Papa, I'm not needed here! Why waste my time somewhere I'm not needed rather than somewhere I actually would be useful? Shadowing you and grandpapa in the running of the estate is all fine but when it comes down to it, if I don't choose to go there might not even be an Abbey to run. For all we know it could be taken over by Hitler and his Nazi soldiers!" His blood was pumping now, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knew he should never speak this way to his family, let alone in front of his brothers and sister, but George couldn't find the will to stop. He'd known he would have to make this argument, although he wished it could've been with only his parents.

Everyone was in a stunned silence for a while before Robert took control of his grandson's tongue, speaking firm and low. "Now listen here, George. I will _not _have that type of talk in this house. I don't care what you believe is right or wrong, I don't care that you want to go to war or not…what I do care is that you show your _respect_ to this house and this family by not insinuating that that foul leader and his army will be over taking it anytime soon," he finished with his eyes boring into George's, the low hum of his voice creating an eerie quiet over the group.

George knew he should bite his tongue. He tried so hard to keep it only a thought but it was what he believed might strike his grandfather and allow him to see reason.

"Grandpapa, you must understand that I mean no disrespect by saying these things. But that foul leader is real…and he is coming, and when the day comes that you find my father, my brothers and I on the front lawn with rifles, trying to defend your land…I hope you will reconsider," George's voice was smooth, bold with a new found confidence he didn't know he had. Before anyone could break the even more stunned silence, he found himself hurrying up the stairs and down the hall, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible.

* * *

He'd been sitting on this sofa for nearly fifteen minutes, staring at his feet whilst in the deepest thought.

"Robert," Cora's voice broke the easy quiet from where she sat on the bed, book in hand. He broke from his stupor, glancing up to her. "You must stop your worrying and come to bed."

If only it was that simple, he thought.

Despite the torment he was going through, Robert padded over to his side of the bed. "Is he right? Can one eighteen year old soldier do so much that would prevent invasion from Germany?" he pondered, crawling into bed, not even a hint of tiredness in his brain.

"He might…he would make a very good soldier, you know. And don't think me for his enlisting, because I am not. But it seems that he will be unpersuaded no matter what anyone says. George is a very headstrong, stubborn young man, Robert. You forget who his mother is."

Robert snorted, thinking on this for a moment. "Yes, I suppose. I only hope someone can get through to him."

Cora smiled, glad that he cared so much for his grandson. "You mustn't be angry with him for his words this evening. It is obviously something he believes so strongly in that he would go against everyone and seem disrespectful. He's always been so kind and caring," she said fondly.

"Yes…that's what I'm afraid of," he replied skeptically and turned over to shut off the lamp, enveloping his side of the room in darkness. Cora couldn't understand what he could have possibly meant by this but thought it best not to press the subject further. It had been a long day. Everything would look better in the morning.

* * *

Was that a knock on the door or had he dreamt it?

"George? It's me," came the faintest of whispers from outside his door.

He tried so hard not to be angry with his little brother, but when he had just fallen asleep it was quite the challenge.

George cracked open the door to meet Nicholas' face illuminated by the moon shining through the windows.

"What do you want, Nick? It's late," he asked sleepily. Nicholas looked to the floor then back up at him.

"I keep thinking about what you said earlier…about Hitler and the Nazi's," Nick's soft voice met his ears and shattered his heart, it was only now that George saw the real fear in his brother's eyes. His father was always saying that words were the most powerful weapon, only now he believed him.

He signaled for Nicholas to enter the room and followed behind him as he sat on the bed while George turned on the bedside lamp, sitting next to his brother.

"I was wrong for saying those things. I was being daft and only thinking of my own wants. You shouldn't worry about anything that came out of my mouth," he spoke softly to his brother, earning a nod in return.

"So…I shouldn't worry about you going to war? Because I know you really want to."

More guilt surfaced in George, realizing how much his words could affect someone. "No, you shouldn't. I know the thought of me going to war is frightening, but you shouldn't be afraid of it. I'm not even sure I'll be going, but if I do you must remember that you will be safe because of me. You and mama and papa and everyone in this big house will be safe because of my absence. Alright?"

Nick nodded once more, George's words lifting the anxiety from his shoulders. "One more thing that I know you won't be keen on..."

George sat in anticipation; no one could ever be sure of what might come from Nicholas' mouth. Since the first day he could speak Nick had been rattling off the most daring, yet intelligent things.

"Might you wait to go to war? I know it would mean a lot to mama and papa and everyone else. I know they do love you very much. Please, George, for all of us?" his brother half-begged, peering up at him with the same blue eyes as he found in the mirror.

George couldn't help but grin, shaking his head at the fact that no one else in his family could have put it so simply and easily as Nick could – the thought of love not yet embarrassing to him as it was to most English. But George found his words true. His family did love and care for him deeply. Of course they didn't want him to go off to war sooner than necessary for the fear of him being injured or killed before his time.

"You're very good at persuading. Maybe you should become a solicitor like Papa." His comment went with Nick's smile. "I will wait. I promise."

His brother was attempting to suppress a toothy-grin now, focusing on the floor.

"Now get out, you twit. It's almost one in the morning," George playfully shoved his brother to his feet.

Nicholas left without another word, shutting the door and moving down the hall back to his room.

* * *

After his brother's midnight persuasion, George woke up with a mighty lump in his throat. This lump he assumed was the pride he had to swallow and apologize to his parents and grandparents, admit that he was in the wrong – even though he didn't feel like he was.

He slid out of bed slowly, his feet like lead. Soon he found himself outside the dining room door, knuckles white on the handle as he turned it unhurriedly. When he entered, George found his father, grandfather and brothers sat at the table eating their breakfast. They looked up at his arrival, saying nothing.

"I would like to apologize for my actions last night. I want to apologize specifically to you, grandfather. My words were not gentlemanly and I was out of line and I'm sorry, truly. I hope you can all forgive me," he said into the silent room.

Matthew and Robert exchanged a glance before Matthew spoke, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Of course we do, George. As out of line as you may have been, we do understand your reasoning. Thank you for your apology." George's shoulders relaxed, breathing out as the lump was finally swallowed. "There is something else," he began, locking eyes with Nick and his knowing grin. "After a bit of persuasion…I've decided not to enlist until my age bracket is called up."

Everyone mirrored Nicholas's grin now, happy for his safety just a bit longer.

"That is very good news," Robert said happily. "Isn't it Matthew?"

"Well, I must admit I am relieved," Matthew replied. "Thank you for making this decision." George nodded, starting for the table to sit down, only to be stopped by his father's voice once more. "But! You must go and apologize to your mother, George. She was very hurt by your words and very worried about your decision."

More guilt struck George, his heart aching at the thought of his mother worry-stricken over him. "You're right, I should. I'll go now."

He immediately left the dining room, jogging up the stairs and down the few hallways to his parents' room. His wraps on the door were cut short by its opening, revealing Anna, who quickly smiled at him and greeted him good morning.

"Are you looking for your mother?" Anna asked politely. He smiled and nodded, gracious that she didn't treat him any differently even though he was sure she'd heard of his outburst. Perhaps she knew exactly where he received the trait of stubbornness from. "She's just dressed, you can go in," she said gently, sidestepping him into the hallway. George thanked her and entered the large bedroom, noting the portraits on the dresser of him and his brothers, one of his sister, one of them all and his parents' wedding photo.

"George, what is it darling?" came Mary's voice from the corner of the room as she stood in front of the mirror. She turned and came towards him, her face much more concerned than the last time he saw it.

"I came to apologize, Mama. I realize the things I said were very awful to say, and I'm so sorry I even said them. I didn't realize the effect of my words while I was speaking them. You and Papa are good to us and I acted ungrateful and disrespectful. I hurt you and I apologize," he finished, looking at her like when he was little, pleading for a sweet.

Mary gave him a small smile, meeting him in the middle of the room. "Thank you…I do accept your apology. You forget that I am your mother and that your mother has said some very hurtful, spiteful things to people in the past," she chuckled at herself, placing a hand to his shoulder. "I am very proud of you, George. You could do nothing to make me love you less."

George smiled. "You'll be pleased to know that I've decided to wait to enlist."

Mary was now wide-eyed, dropping her hand. "What?"

"I've decided against going early. I'm going to wait until I absolutely have to," he replied, immediately being met with her placing a hand to her mouth. She stayed like that for a short moment before picking her head back up again, tears in her eyes. She laughed at herself, smiling now. "I'm sorry. I'm just very relieved."

"So was Papa…You have Nicholas to thank though."

"Nicholas?"

"Yes. He came into my room last night and somehow convinced me into staying," he stated, shaking his head at his brother. Mary made a mental note to hug her youngest when she saw him, he was so terribly clever. "I should probably get back down before they wrap up breakfast."

"Of course, of course. Go on then. And George," she called as he stopped at the door and swung around. "If you do go to war…I will still love you all the same."

George nodded his thanks and closed the door behind him.


	3. Uneven Odds

**Hello again! Not even gonna lie, I'm so freaking sick. But I had planned to upload another chapter this weekend so with a fever, hack and runny nose, I pulled myself together and sat down to edit and upload this. **

**Thanks for all your reviews and that good stuff, be sure to tell me what you think, and yeah. I'm gonna go to sleep.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

_17 March 1940_

Since the declaration of war the whole country seemed to grow dim and quiet. The usual chipper faces you passed in the streets turned solemn. It seemed all anyone was doing was waiting on the edge of their seats when the radio was on and dreading the morning papers for any bad news that might have broken overnight. Other than the constant nerves, they continued life as normally as possible. They all helped the country in every way they could. Charities and concerts and volunteering at the hospital took them through the first few months, but no matter what they did to help, everyone felt useless in comparison to the men giving their lives. George especially.

In October the government announced that all men 18 to 41 who did not have an occupation could be called up if required. In his eyes this was his call to go. He promised he would wait and for six months he'd stood by, watching some of his friends and many boys from the village go off to war while he stayed behind, waiting. Unable to take the bite on his tongue any longer, George could see no other option but to approach his father once more.

The hall was quiet, the crisp morning air rushing through the cracks of the house. He gripped the doorknob for a long moment before entering the library with steady hands and even breaths - quite different from the last time he faced his father with the burden of war on his shoulders. His father was different this time as well; unable to ignore the signs of the rope that held what peace they had left was sure to snap. Matthew knew everything that was happening between the countries just across the Channel would sooner or later happen here. German forces were more threatening than ever, maintaining entire counties under Hitler's terror and bombing those who refused. Though without question, more involvement from England was taking place. Their country would not be another prisoner of war for their enemies to keep as prize.

Taking one look at his son's solid gaze, Matthew sighed. Pausing to look at the ground, then back towards him straight on as one clear word echoed from his mouth and throughout the entire room, "Alright."

George remained in a stunned silence for a moment, expecting anything but what he just heard.

Matthew stood from his spot at the desk, crossing the room to stand in front of him. "I've tried to avoid this as long as possible. But frankly, I don't think we can anymore. You and I both know what has been going on overseas these past months and you and I both know it won't be ending anytime soon. It's only getting worse and it's only getting closer. I've tried telling myself you were too young, that you weren't ready, that somehow you were needed here…but then I realized none of that is true." George's ears perked up, hopeful at his father's words. "You are very ready, and you will make an excellent soldier, George. But it will be hard, not only for us but for you. You will want to run, you will have times where you want to die, you'll want to quit everything and come home…but you mustn't. And when you want to do all those things you carry on and fight until there's no fight left in you, understand?" Matthew spoke strictly, making sure George listened very closely so that he knew exactly what was in store for him.

"Yes, sir," he answered, nodding.

"Good…you have my permission to go into town tomorrow, just give me enough time to tell your mother and you can tell everyone else at dinner."

George couldn't quite explain the feeling in his chest but he grinned all the same. "Thank you, papa," he exclaimed, shaking his father's hand. Matthew smiling a brief second despite himself, gripping his son's hand in his far more experienced one. He frowned then, remembering exactly what they were celebrating.

Unlike his son, Matthew couldn't help his nerves as he waited outside the drawing room where on the other side of the door Mary and the rest of the ladies were having their afternoon tea. As he waited, Matthew prepared his words. He knew she would immediately blame him - and he was partly and would accept his role in this fully, but still had to try and make her understand.

Lost in thought, Matthew was startled when the door in question opened and the one he was looking for crossed the threshold, smiling when she saw him. "Hello," she began, coming to kiss him on the cheek. "What are you doing here? I thought you were writing letters."

Matthew glanced over her shoulder at his daughter and mother-in-law, smiling briefly at them. "I just got a bit sidetracked. Might I speak to you in private?"

Mary's face fell, mind flying to the worst possibilities. "Of course. They'll be clearing that room, we should go upstairs."

They made their way to their bedroom in silence, closing the door with a quiet click. Matthew turned around, meeting her worried gaze.

"Please tell me the words I think you may say aren't the ones you really are," she said, demeanor falling fast.

Matthew took a long while, watching the floor beneath her shoes. "I can't make him stay here any longer," was all he said.

"Oh, Matthew how could you?" Mary asked, hurt in her words.

"Please try to understand, darling. He feels worthless here, this is something to help him feel like a part of something. He feels like a coward, watching all the local boys go off and fight while he stays here and does what?…volunteer at the hospital once or twice a week? It's not his place, Mary."

"Not his place?! And where is his place Matthew? On a battlefield being shot and killed?" she cried, turning away from him and towards the bed.

"He's not old enough to be sent to any battlefields! War could be over by the time he's even met the age qualifications! And even if war doesn't end and he is sent overseas, he will be of good use, can't you see!? He _wants_ to do this," Matthew stressed, staring at the side of her face. "Mary, I'm not guaranteeing his safety – of course I can't do that – but I know that if I was in his position, and if you remember quite clearly, I was, I would do the same thing he is…and I would want the support of my entire family, including my mother."

She whipped around at his words, jaw-dropped and visibly hurt. "Did your mother have such an easy time letting you go off to war? Her only son; the only family she had?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Then don't expect me to give up my eldest son in just a few days, Matthew! I'm trying, honestly, I am. But I don't know how you can expect me to come to terms with the fact that my son whom I raised and care for is going to war and could very well not come back."

Her words struck him, angering and filling with guilt. Matthew scoffed, gaping at her. "Do you honestly think I don't understand how you feel? Have you forgotten that he is my son as well? That I raised him and care for him just as much as you? Don't act as though you're the only one who is having trouble accepting the very real possibilities. You didn't have to look him in the face and give him permission to go and face what is shaping to be the worst war the world has ever seen. I know war, yes, but what I went through will be nothing compared to what he will experience. It is so much worse this time. Awful things happening to innocent people, deadlier and more destructive weapons than there ever were when I fought. Do you think it easy for me to allow our son to go into that?"

They stared at each other for a long moment, their heated glares reflecting off the others. Matthew dropped his first, wiping his hand over his face in frustration.

"I don't want to argue with you…and I know you're trying, really I do. I know you're scared, and so am I. I'm so scared," he breathed, a large lump forming in his throat. Mary's defenses fell, taking in his trembling appearance as she hesitantly made her way across the room, standing before him and playing with the lapels of his overcoat. Matthew lifted his eyes to meet hers once more. She said nothing but rested her head on his shoulder and breathed him in, wrapping both arms around him, fingers dancing on his spine. He smirked, holding her tightly to his chest. "I do love you so very much," he murmured. "I told you I would do everything I could to keep everyone safe, and I have. I can't do anything more, it's all in God's hands now."

"I know," she whispered, pulling back to meet his face. "All we can do now is hope and pray," she said dismally.

Matthew chuckled, feeling the pads of her fingers brushing his neck. "You act as though that is nothing. When did you become a woman of such little faith?"

"You know me, darling, I don't believe until I see. I am a doubter at best."

He grinned now, lips grazing her forehead. "It's alright. I have enough faith for the both of us," he hummed against her skin.

She smiled softly, gazing towards the floor. "I must say, that is reassuring."

* * *

Much to his family's dismay and his mother's prayers for a small tick that just might prevent him from leaving, George's enlisting process was quickly over. He found the day to have gone smoother than he'd expected it to. The church only held a small line of five to ten young men of Downton, most of those whom could volunteer having done so already. Now it was mostly those who had just turned eighteen, queuing in line for the simple task of filling out pages of paperwork. After the hour he spent answering every question from his birthday to the health of his ancestors, a sergeant directed him across the street to the hospital, where he waited outside a door that was already lined with a few others. After all the indignities that came with getting a physical, George was dismissed with the promise of his letter arriving in a few weeks. He knew how he must look – a future Earl of Grantham, volunteering when he is not required. How heroic he must look, so young and willing to die for his country when he could hide in his big house and not be questioned. This brought color to his cheeks as he walked out into the chilled air.

Settling back into the car, George watched as more young men crossed the street in front of him – all fit with eager faces and heading towards the church. The car lurched forward as he recognized a few of them, recalling an aggressive cricket match a few years ago when he was nine. George stared at their backs until they were out of sight, turning solemn as the pixelated memory of being punched in the nose flashed in his mind. He remembered his grandfather jogging across the street and shouting at the small crowd of boys he'd allowed him to play with whilst he ran errands. Blood had been dripping down his face, staining his new tie and overcoat. George remembered fear then. Fear of his mother's anger at the ruin of his new clothes. Much to his surprise, when he arrived home he'd only received concern and worry from his mother. It was one of the first times he remembered the compassion she solely reserved for him and his brothers and sister.

George smirked as his eyes snapped from their glazed over state and focused on the passing trees and cottages. Turning solemn, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to the boy who punched him. What was the probability that he would live and the boy who broke his nose would not? What were the odds for every face he met today? Who would return and who would be remembered?

He chose to ignore the knot in his stomach as the probability of his return stared him in the face. The fact was: he could die. There was a fifty percent chance he would never see this town and his home and his family again, that he would die before he really got to live. There was a fifty percent chance he would come back and live his life until he was an old man, telling his war stories to his grandchildren and dying from the simplicity of old age. The odds were even. His future was set. No going back now.

* * *

_21 April 1940_

This damn knot – the same cursed knot that had been following him around the past seven months – would not cease. Normally, it went away within a few minutes of him taking a moment to collect his thoughts and calming breaths. But this time the knot had not disappeared, keeping him awake all night to toss and turn between the sheets, causing him to pace the room in the hopes of tiring himself out. Without luck, George eventually fell asleep out of pure exhaustion for what seemed like ten minutes. Before he knew it he was being woken and the knot was back, torturing him to no ends.

George rose with ease as his mind had been preparing for this day for weeks. He double-checked the small rucksack at the foot of his bed - packed with enough clothes for weeks' time and all other essentials that had been listed on his letter from the Officer-in-Charge of the Royal Army Recruiting Center.

The knot followed him down to breakfast, where his entire family was already there eating casually. George frowned as he looked down at the eggs and toast on his plate. Despite his family's and his own efforts, he couldn't stomach more than a few bites before retiring once more upstairs.

His heart raced as he watched the clock inching closer to the time of his departure. He checked his rucksack one last time then hoisted it easily over his shoulder. Digging in his jacket, George found the pocket watch his father had given him a few days ago as a reminder of home, checking the ticking clock for the thousandth time today.

Five minutes until he was to report downstairs to be taken to the train station.

His hands were steady now, breathing even and heart regular. With a new found strength, George decided it time to go. Shrugging the rucksack back over his shoulder, he sighed, hoping that he would live to see this house again, sleep in his bed again, have dinner with his family, ride with his brothers just one more time.

Leaving his room behind, George began his sentiments down the hallway, passing his brothers' rooms and immersing at the top of the stairs. He brushed the banister with his fingers, examining all the tapestries he'd never noticed before and the arches that rose into the ceiling. How many times had he run up and down these corridors? How many times had he slid down the banister when no one was around? All his life had been lived in these four walls, and, with God's grace, so would his future.

George was met by his entire family as well as the whole of the staff. Tears threatened in his eyes as he was met with their proud and gentle faces all lined outside the entryway.

The chauffeur stepped forward in order to take his bag and put it in the car while George stepped just outside the door to meet his grandmother. He smiled the cheesy smile he'd been giving her since all his teeth had come in. She grinned in return, hugging him tightly. "Good luck, George. You go and be brave…but not too brave, understand?" she said apprehensively while pulling back.

George nodded, his smile turning downwards slightly. "I won't granny, I promise."

"Good lad," Isobel replied, releasing him as he stepped away to meet both grandparents. He couldn't help but be comforted at the sight of them, both strong and powerful as ever while the world grew to shambles.

"George," his grandfather began, holding out his hand. He took his grandfather's aged hand in his own, smiling as the memory of this man shouting at the village boy who had punched him. "You'll do well, my boy. There's no doubt about that."

"Thank you," he answered, releasing his hand. "Thank you for everything, grandfather."

In true Englishmen form, Robert embarrassed at this, but smiled despite himself. This was the little boy he'd been so happy to welcome into the world eighteen years ago. He was able to recall many days of caring for him as a baby when no one else was around, showing him the entire estate grounds and laughing at the awe on his face at truly how large their home was. His throat clenched as George moved on, words he wanted to say but never would dying on his tongue.

Cora smiled at her dearest grandchild. Of all nine of her precious grandchildren, she could - without any doubt - say that George had the kindest, most gentle spirit. His compassionate nature shone through the care of his younger siblings, teaching them valuable lessons and looking out on their behalf purely for their own benefit.

Now, she kissed him on the cheek and embraced him a long moment without a word spoken, simply because there were none. "Goodbye, darling," she whispered with tears in her eyes.

George mentally cursed, seeing his loved ones with tears, knowing it was all for him did nothing besides cause a lump in his own throat. "Goodbye, grandmamma," he replied, forcing the lump down.

He met his father now, nearly falling to pieces at the sight of the kindest, bravest man he'd ever known. All his life he'd grown up with people telling him how much he resembled his father, and most of the time he'd hated the attention their resemblance attracted; but as he grew up to the person he was now, George became less concerned with the similarities in the way they looked and more concerned in his actions to be more like the all around good person that his father was.

His hand met his own, both gripping tightly to one another before breaking all things proper and embracing for a quiet moment. Matthew pulled back as they composed themselves once more. "Remember everything I told you, alright?"

George nodded, squinting in the morning light. "Yes, papa, I'll remember."

"Good…good." Matthew couldn't quite explain the things going on inside of him; guilt and anger and worry and fear. For God's sake this was his son - the first of his children he had ever held and learned to care for, the first he taught everything he could and the first he would some days sneak away from the nanny just because he wanted to spend time with the giggling little boy. With great struggle Matthew realized George was no longer a little boy but a young man, and he couldn't be prouder than he already was of the fantastic man he was shaping up to be. "Just…be careful, please," he requested, his legs tingling with in faint memory.

"I will, papa," George confirmed, relieving some weight from his father's shoulders, no matter how small the promise may be. How careful could you be in war when trying to be brave at the same time?

He could feel his hands beginning to shake once more as he turned to his mother. The lump was the most prominent it had been so far, looking at his dear mother, her eyes brimmed with tears yet composure of such strength. She gave him a watery smile then wrapped both arms around him. George squeezed his eyes shut at the utter safety he felt in his mother's arms. No one could ever make him feel as protected as she could. He'd always been told that as a baby when crying and unable to be calmed by any nanny, she was the only person who could. They would simply hand him to her and he would quiet almost immediately. Now, he got the feeling this was one of those times, only this time he cried because he was leaving that safety which he depended on for eighteen years. Now he was going away to places that that safety would never be, and he was terrified because of it.

"We love you very much," Mary said, all the while holding him closer before finally letting him go for good. She straightened the material of his jacket along his shoulders, tears falling now. "We'll be right here waiting for you when you come back." She attempted a smile once more, gazing into the eyes that of his father, inflicting the long lost memory of sending Matthew off to war after leave, Lavinia next to her. How very much she wished she could go back in time and tell herself what she knew now. Never did she want to go through the same pain and fear that having someone you loved at war brought. But this was something she could not control. Oh how she wished it could all be over, that she might know whether or not everything would be alright. But until they knew what the future held, Mary could do nothing but watch as he moved away from her and onto his brother.

Christopher briefly kicked the pebbles under his feet, head towards the ground whilst George stepped in front of him. He squinted at him, not quite knowing what to say or how to say it. "Don't do anything stupid," Christopher said, causing them both to grin.

"I'll try not to," George replied with an amused chuckle.

"If the war lasts long enough, I could be joining you in a couple years," he played. George felt tension from the eyes of his family, and was a bit disappointed he wouldn't be present to see the lecture it would ensue.

"Yeah, you could," he breathed; the thought of another member of his family at risk causing his pulse to race.

"Don't waste it all away though. Try to at least learn something in school," George teased, patting Christopher's shoulder. He nodded to his older brother, staying in place while he moved on.

George frowned as he continued to his sister, briefly grinning as all his memories of terrorizing her when they were little flooding back. "I got you this," Elizabeth hesitated, holding out a novel. George accepted the book from her, smiling as he scanned the cover. "It's quite a new novel…You may relate to it," she said with a knowing smile.

"With a title like "The Corinthian" I'm sure I will," he replied, smirking. "Thank you. Goodbye, Elizabeth," George bid, hugging her as well.

"Bye, George," she whispered before releasing him.

He forced a smile as he moved to Nicholas, immediately seeing the strain on Nick's face as his little brother struggled to be brave. "Blimey Nick, you're nearly as tall as me," George stated, smiling down at him. Nicholas attempted to smile, coming out more of a grimace than much else. They remained in silence a moment before his barriers broke and Nick threw himself into his brother's arms, tears flowing freely down his face as his fingers dug into George's overcoat. He stood stunned for a moment then hugged him back, equally as hard.

"Promise me you'll write!" he sobbed, muffled in George's chest.

Verging on tears himself, George rubbed Nick's back affectionately. "I promise I'll write. I'll write as much as I can." Nicholas calmed at his words, pulling back to wipe his face on his sleeve, attempting to hide his embarrassment. George squeezed Nick's shoulders, smiling down at the innocent boy. "I'll see you soon."

Nicholas shook his head, silently agreeing and sniffling.

Nicholas being the last person in line, George's heart sunk a moment as he realized it truly time to go. He turned towards the house and drank it in; smiling at the small crowd of people with the subtle feeling they'd all meet again. With this sensation, he took one last look at his family and climbed in the car, almost immediately joined by the chauffeur. He smiled once more at the book in his hands, fingering the cover a minute before opening his rucksack and sliding it safely between his clothes.

The car jolted through the gravel under its path, leaving a puff of dust in its wake to float through the early morning air. All but Matthew and Mary began to disperse then, staying put and watching the car move away from them with the feeling of emptiness looming over.

Matthew said nothing as he took her hand in his own, finding some comfort in his wife's delicate touch. Mary nearly pulled away out of the sorrow in her own heart, only remembering Matthew's words and deciding to trust them and believe that no matter what happened they would all be alright.

"It will be alright," she whispered.

Matthew looked over at her now, admiring the image of her with eyes still fixed on the horizon and an expression of determination etched into her features. With this as well as the car that moved seemingly in slow motion down the drive, he felt inevitable pride fill him head-to-toe.

"Yes…it will be."


	4. Bloom

**New chapter here as I have a four day weekend and figured I should update. A special one I think as the intro of a few new characters come about.**

**Also, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna start naming chapters after songs (if that's not too cliche) that are relative to the chapter and have some lyrics that express it in one way or another. So if you care, this chapter is 'Bloom' by The Paper Kites.**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review and all that other stuff. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_11 July 1940_

The raps on the basement door grew more and more agitated with each passing minute that its producer was left standing outside in the sweltering heat. Just when the deliverer had given up, the door finally opened to reveal Anna looking particularly rushed and disheveled.

"Yes?" she questioned.

"Letter," the postal boy simply stated, holding out the thin, white envelope to her.

Anna took it from the sweating boy without question, gave her thanks and shut the door behind her. A brief glance at the front of the post told her there was no return address, which also alerted her to how important this small parcel was.

Before she could stop herself, Anna was jogging down the hall, coming to a halt only when she nearly tackled the person she'd been looking for.

"Mr. Clark!"

"Anna, what on earth is the matter?" he replied heavily, straightening himself from the fright she'd given.

Anna simply held out the letter to him, smiling knowingly. "An important letter I think you'll want to go give to the family at once."

Mr. Clark glanced to the writing on the post and agreed. "You're quite right, Anna. I'll go and deliver this right now."

Clark turned on his heel, hurrying out the door and nearly jogging around the house until he was within eye-shot of the crowd all dressed in white on the lawn. Halfway he realized he'd left the tray and letter opener behind but decided to sod it – this letter was more important than formalities.

Clark kept his eyes focused on the recipient of the parcel until he stood right before them, waiting a moment as they finished their conversation with a small group of people and looking at him expectantly.

"Letter for you, sir," he said smoothly, holding out the long envelope for him to take.

Matthew hardly had time to set his eyes on the scribbled address written on the front before his heart leapt and he froze, looking to Clark for conformation he didn't have. Body catching up with mind, he took the letter from the butler's hand; holding it as though it was the most prized of possessions. Matthew murmured his thanks to Clark whilst his head stretched above all the guests', locating the one person he felt he had to share with and jogging through the crowd to get to her.

"Mary!"

She turned at the sound of her husband's voice, concerned to see him hurrying towards her, though relaxing as his smiling face eased her worry.

"What is it?" she asked, unapologetic to the guests she had been speaking with.

Matthew held up the envelope with a sly smirk. As he had, Mary took one simple glance at the messy scrawl and knew exactly who it was from.

After three long months of silence from George, the promise of word from their son had them both grinning from ear-to-ear and scurrying to a private corner of one of the tents. They sat opposite each other, Matthew handing her the envelope before opening it.

"You read it," he requested.

Not bothering to consider why he asked this of her, Mary took it and pried its seal open. A single piece of parchment was pulled from the inside; front messed with George's untidy hand.

"_Dear family_," Mary began to read. "_I can only imagine mama's bitterness at me for my three months silence - and perhaps Nicholas for going back on a promise I made him. Sadly, this letter will be short as well as I only found a spare moment between lunch to write this. The only excuse I can provide is that I have been extremely busy with training. And despite the exhausting summer heat, it is going well. I am quite proud of myself and the other men for the amount of things we have managed to learn in such a short amount of time. I'm sure that when the time comes we will all serve our country well. _

_With the twelve weeks of training almost over the last one has been rumoured to be the worst. We will be pushed to our limits and truly tested of our abilities that would be needed when in combat. Yet, in the difficulty of the final week the Colonel has promised a week's leave beginning on the 14__th__. I do hope this letter reaches you in time of my arrival as I wouldn't want to be a bother for the servants. Regardless of this, I long to be home and see you all again._

_My train will be departing at 10 o'clock and I will arrive around noon. Although, I suppose if you don't get this letter in time I'll have no other choice but to walk home and give you a surprise._

_All my love,_

_George_

* * *

_14 July 1940_

Steam from the locomotive wafted over the platform, enveloping all disembarking passengers in the white transparent mist. George broke from the cloud, his rucksack hung over his shoulder as he panned around for any sign of his family or the chauffeur. He wandered further down the platform runway until he was no longer blocked from the sun by the overhang of the station. Squinting into the light, George smiled as his eyes locked with their chauffeur standing across the road by the car.

"Master George, welcome home," Peters greeted, taking the knapsack from him and opening the door.

"Thank you, it's good to be home," George answered whilst climbing in the back of the Ford.

"My apologies for not meeting you on the platform, sir, it's just that your parents didn't want me to miss you in the mess of people after an arrival, so they instructed to watch the gate," he explained after starting the car.

George couldn't help but smile. "That's quite alright, I don't mind at all. I suppose they want me back as quickly as possible, and quite frankly I want to be back as quickly as possible."

Peters looked in his rearview at the boy as he watched out the window at the passing cottages. "My son is in the army as well," he stated, focusing ahead once more.

"Really?" George answered, surprised.

"Yes, sir: Daniel. He's just a year older than you," Peters stated proudly.

"I believe I remember meeting him at home a few years ago. Do you know where he's stationed by any chance?"

Peters sighed. "Unfortunately, no. The last I heard from him he was still in the country, but as you know, they're not permitted to discuss it."

"Yes, it does make it tricky when writing letters," George joked. "I hope he's well. I'll keep him in my prayers. Who knows, I may meet him again soon. You never know who you'll come across on the front."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that," Peters replied before they settled into silence as George became more and more eager with the sight of familiar surroundings leading the way towards his home. Crossing through the village and passing all cottages, they soon found themselves in the lush, green countryside. George smiled when they were finally on the long, winding road between the trees. Anticipation grew because he knew soon the trees would stop and there would be the most wonderful clearing and in the middle of the hilled acres of land would stand his home.

When it finally happened and he finally saw the large house after nearly four months, George found himself bending forward into the front seat for a better view at the approaching castle. Near the end of the road, his eyes flickered to the grand front entrance and more importantly, his family all standing in line right front of it; like he'd never left.

George sat back, smoothing out his jacket and straightening his cap, his nerves suddenly resurfacing. He felt an eternity from the spot they were from the front of the house. Peters jumped out as soon as they had reached it, hurrying around to open his door. Staring at his family once more, George found his nerves replaced with overwhelming giddiness. His family mimicked his enthusiasm; receiving him into a blur of greetings and hugs and handshakes.

Making their way into the grand entrance, George found Nick once again.

"Quite honestly, I do think you have actually grown," he complimented, stopping in the middle of the room as the rest made their way past them.

Nicholas looked up at him, attempting to conceal his smirk by biting the inside of his cheek. "I'll be able to beat you up soon," he replied smugly, grinning at the look on his older brother's face.

"Alright, alright, don't push your luck," George answered, continuing their walk into the corridor. "I am sorry I broke my promise to write more often. I'll try harder when I go back, but I can't promise much. Sometimes it's difficult to get a letter even sent."

Nick nodded, attempting to accept his words. "You should probably apologize to mama as well. She's been terribly worried, even if it is just training."

George filled with guilt, smiling nevertheless. "I'll do that later. She's more forgiving than you are."

"George!"

He whipped around at his name – the instinct fully in him now; feeling a bit odd when he found his mother there and not the Corporal.

"Would you like to have a bath before tea?" she asked, having no idea how sweet the words "bath" and "tea" sounded to him.

"I would, thank you," he answered.

"Go on up, I'll have Jennings run it for you," she instructed with a smile.

George nodded, doing as told without any second thoughts, a hot bath seeming too good a luxury to pass.

Dinner that night was the pleasanter of evenings they'd all had in a while. George had never been happier to dress in formal wear and talk normally with his family again. He told them what he could about training and where he was going next and everything exciting that he could remember happening while away. He listened as they told him their stories as well and everything that had happened with all of them. All in all, they were well and happy. George, looking around at them all, couldn't help but damper his own feelings of joy with the dismal thought of if it would last or not. In a year, two years, three years' time, would it all last?

"Are the Reeds still coming for dinner on Wednesday?" George's head snapped up at the sound of his father's voice.

"Yes, and they're bringing all of the children as well," Robert replied after a sip of his wine. "We haven't seen them in ages it seems – ten years at least."

George spoke for the rest of his siblings. "Sorry, who are the Reeds?"

Cora spoke up now, smiling down the table at him. "The Reeds are your grandfather's friends from long ago. How long have you known them, dear?" she directed back to Robert.

"Since I was George's age - if I remember correctly. Mine and Louis' fathers were good friends and we would all go on hunting outings. His father died when he was seventeen and his older brother, William, inherited. Then he married Camille and moved to London – they were good friends with your great-aunt Rosamund before her passing," he explained. "They're traveling up for their daughter, Emma. She's going up to the University of Sheffield for a tour and they asked to stop in on their way."

"How lovely," Mary commented. "I suppose she's going to study medicine if she's going to Sheffield?"

"I think Louis did mention that, yes," Robert replied, his traditional ways making his face disgruntled.

George smiled. Some things never change.

George's first few days at Downton passed quickly and leisurely, focusing solely on relaxing and rejuvenating before going back to service. For now, he returned to riding with his brothers, eating as much as possible, and finally getting around to finishing the Corinthian. He sat in the library now, upside down with legs dangling over the back of the sofa. It was quiet as he turned the page, estimating the number of pages that were left and sighing when realizing there was more than he could possibly read in the next hour or so.

Truly, he was enjoying the book – Elizabeth had been right, he could relate to it. The main character, Richard, was an heir with a fortune at his feet and brides that would line up at the chance of marrying him, except for the fact he wants nothing to do with any of them due to his suspicions that every woman only desires him for his money. George couldn't say he related in every way, but it was nice to see he wasn't alone in the future when he would have to marry a suitable girl with a matchable fortune. Luckily, the war bought him time – years perhaps, before he would be introduced to multiple girls with little-to-no personality and be expected to simply marry someone he hardly knew.

George's thoughts were broken by the library door opening and Clark entering with his granny in tow. He immediately sat right side up, not feeling keen on receiving a scolding.

"Oh, hello George. I didn't expect to meet you here, I'd thought you already gone up to change," she stated, coming around to sit across from him.

George reached in his pocket for his golden watch and flipped it open, startled at the time. "You're right, granny. I better go up before the Reeds arrive. See you in a bit."

Smiling, George strolled down the stairs, feeling quite dashing in the new set of tails his grandparents had surprised him with as a welcome home present. It felt good to be back home and back to his old life – as short a time it might be - just to have some peace for a while was welcomed.

"Well don't you look swell!" His grandmother exclaimed as she noticed him descending the stairs, her words gathering the attention of the rest of his family.

"Thank you. I have you to thank of course," he answered, gesturing to both her and his grandfather.

"You're quite welcome dear. Hopefully it'll attract the attention of more than just us though," she replied with a secret smile. George froze in confusion as Cora stood straight in line once again, looking ahead with the same smirk. He took his place beside Chris – who was sniggering – and chose to bite his tongue. Had they arranged this entire evening just so he could find a potential suitor in the Reed's daughter? Did they buy him this set of tails just to impress her? Did they really expect him to fall in love with someone just over dinner and small talk?

With the urge to run upstairs and change back into his uniform, George frowned, disappointment in his grandparents if his assumptions proved true.

"Mr. and Mrs. Louis Reed, Miss. Emma Reed, Miss. Penelope Reed, and Mr. Michael Reed," Clark announced as all those attached to the names passed him through the entryway.

"My dear old chap," Robert grinned, extending his hand for an overdue handshake. Mr. Reed was shorter than Robert, yet broad-shouldered and surprisingly slim for his old age. Dark-circles lined his eyes as if he lacked sleep; thin, grey hair stood disarrayed on top of his head; his red mess jacket matching that of Robert's. "How good it is to see you."

"And you, Robert," he replied as equally enthused. "Might I introduce my wife, Camille; my daughters, Emma and Penelope; and my son, Michael." The opposite family could all see the striking resemblance the Reed children had with their mother in an uncanny way; their brown hair and eyes shining over their father's once blonde and blue.

Dinner passed much slower than normal, for George at least. Every second was torture as he tried with everything he had not to glance up again, and every time failing. He refused to let his grandmother win - even if his hurt pride would be obvious to no one but himself. Despite the hypocritical feeling that overtook him, just once he wished for Emma to catch his gaze so he could actually focus on his food rather than whom she was looking at. Good God, why wouldn't she just look at him? She had set eyes upon everyone else at the table multiple times, yet refused to even spare a glimpse his way. It couldn't have been anything he'd said – the only thing he'd done was say "hello." Perhaps she was bitter for the same reasons he was. Perhaps her parents only planned on visiting this evening due to the two potential husbands for their daughters that resided here.

"George?" his mother was calling to him from the other end of the table. He snapped his head up from his intense stare with the plate.

"Yes?" he answered, startled as all eyes were on him now – all but ones' of course.

"Mrs. Reed asked you a question," she said agitated.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Reed, forgive me," he directed towards the woman sitting diagonal to him, smiling kindly.

"No that's alright, dear. I was only wondering how your military training was coming along?" she said, ending her sentence with a sip from her glass.

George paused a moment, collecting his thoughts. Then, after a minute or two of explaining how training was, he went back to brooding at his food until dinner was over and they all moved into the drawing room. Behind the sofa he stood next to Christopher, who was looking at him expectantly. When George didn't act on his brother's looks Chris took it upon himself to confront his own thoughts.

"Why don't you go talk to her?" he said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. George rolled his eyes in response.

"She won't even acknowledge my presence, I highly doubt she'll care to give me a kind word," he responded, staring at the floor. "You didn't notice her, maybe, glancing in my direction, did you?"

Christopher shook his head with pursed lips. "No, sorry. I was on the other end of the table remember? – oh that's right, you were too busy staring into Emma's soul to notice." They both grinned, eventually laughing quietly until Nicholas approached them.

"What's so funny?" he asked, coming to stand beside Chris.

"Don't let it slip, but for the first time in his life George is having trouble getting a girl to notice him," Chris whispered in their small group.

"I don't want her to notice me in particular...I just don't understand why she's ignoring the fact that I exist. In fact, it is rude. This is my home. She's the one that was invited to dine here. It's only courteous to speak with everyone."

"Are you talking about Emma? Haven't you noticed? She keeps looking at you," Nick said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

George felt numb for a minute. "Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure! Every time you look away, she looks up. It's quite amusing to watch-"

"She's alone!" Christopher broke in, directing all their attention to Emma as she studied the painting on the wall. "Go on!"

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, George pulled on the bottom of his jacket in attempt to smooth out any creases that might have formed. With a slight nudge from Nicholas, he started for the corner of the room where she stood away from the rest. Approaching, he noted the painting she was examining.

"My great grandfather," he simply stated, seemingly startling her when she whipped around with widened eyes. Distracted by the golden brown that pierced through him, it was a short pause before he could speak. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," George apologized quickly, mentally kicking himself.

"That's alright," Emma breathed, smiling as she looked back towards the golden-framed painting. "I was admiring his uniform. Was war how he died?" she asked, refusing to meet his gaze once more.

"Um, no. He died a few years later," George said, tongue turning to cotton. "I'm sorry, have I offended you in some way?" he asked boldly, words dying once she turned to look at him, no longer feeling brave.

"What do you mean?" Emma questioned, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted.

"It's only that…it's quite foolish…I just couldn't help but notice you have, sort of, avoided looking at me all night." Good God he sounded so idiotic. "I was just wondering if I had done something."

She turned back to the wall, an undeniable smirk on her lips. "You haven't done anything," she confirmed. George held his breath, waiting for the rest. "I was…doing it on purpose," she almost whispered, embarrassed to be admitting it.

"You did?" he asked. "May I ask why?"

This it seemed she didn't want to give up either. "I read it…in a magazine."

"I'm sorry, read what in a magazine?"

Emma turned red, trying so hard to limit the threatening grin. "One of those…stupid, useless tips on how to get young men to notice you." At his confused look, she elaborated. "This tip in particular was to avoid any interaction for as long as possible, making the gentleman wonder why he can't get your attention, and eventually approaching to talk to you. I decided to try it – as senseless as it might have been."

George felt a pang in his chest, angry at the manipulative way behind this trick. But before he could tell her how he thought that was a cruel and unusual method to gain someone's affection, all resentment dissipated as he realized her reason behind it all: she'd been trying to get him to notice her. With this, George was now biting his lower lip to suppress his smirk.

"You know," he began, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "if you wanted my attention you could have just tried talking to me. I'm very easy to talk to, very likeable," he said smoothly, his confidence returning fully.

"Oh are you?" she replied jokingly, raising eyebrows in laughter.

"I am. Let's see, you're traveling up to the University of Sheffield. Tell me about that," George told her, linking his hands behind his back in full devotion to her words.

Emma smiled bashfully. "Well…I'm going up to view it. If all goes well, I'll be attending there in autumn."

George already knew his next question and the answer. "What do you want to study?"

She shook her head in amusement. "Medicine."

"And I suppose when you graduate, will you be a nurse?" he tested.

"A doctor actually," Emma replied with a proud smile.

George's eyes widened in surprise. "A doctor? Really?"

"Yes, what's wrong that?" she defended.

George snapped back to normality, not wanting to offend her. "Nothing, honestly. I just didn't think there were many female doctors."

"There isn't, but there will be in time. And I want to be one of the firsts," she answered, obviously filled with pride at this opportunity to be a part of such a minority. There was a spark of infatuation in his eyes, impressed by her want to be different.

"And when I get shot in the war, will you be there to take out the bullet?" he joked with a self-assured smile.

Emma chuckled at his ways of asking. "If you mean will I be joining the army after graduation, then…maybe. Even then it would take a great deal of pleading to convince my parents to let me join."

George followed her gaze to the other corner of the room where her parents stood, chatting idly with his own. "I know what you mean. It took six months for my parents to allow me to enlist. But of course, I know they were just looking out for my best interest after all."

"Oh yes, I do understand why they do it but it's just difficult to be stuck in a world of parties and fantasy that are supposed to isolated me from all the bad things when they're so very real," Emma said solemnly, pity in her eyes as she still glanced over his shoulder at her parents.

George sighed for her. "You're right…but you're going to university. You're doing what you want. You won't be stuck anymore," he said in attempt to brighten her mood.

"You're right, I am," she replied with sparkling eyes. "Maybe I'll actually hear a piece of news about the war without having to eavesdrop or sneak minutes with the wireless." He chuckled, happy to simply be talking to her. After a settled moment, Emma diverted the discussion to him. "So what's it like being a soldier? I obviously don't hear much, but when I actually do I always hear things about the brave men fighting for our country."

Nearly blushing, he stared at his feet. "Well, I'm not a soldier yet, having just finished training and all. Though I will be starting next week, but you won't be around to hear all the war stories next time I come home," George answered with a small smile.

Emma froze a moment, an impulse coming to mind but unsure on whether or not to act on it. Biting her bottom lip, she gazed at him a long moment and decided that war could do so much to them in the future, she may never get this chance again. "You can write to me then, tell me all about the adventurous life of a military man."

Quite taken aback by this, George gaped at her a second. "I – um, well…alright," he finally settled on, deciding that the fact they just met meant nothing - it was 1940 for God's sake and there was a war raging on. "How will I get your address while you're at school and I'm away?"

She had clearly already figured it out in her head. "Don't worry, George, you'll hear from me," Emma said with a devious smile.

"Emma?" Mr. Reed called from the opposite corner of the room. "We're going," he stated, nodding to George then heading for the door with her brother and sister in tow.

She looked up at him with sympathetic eyes at the bluntness that of her father, then quickly transforming to confident. "I'll be talking to you soon, Private Crawley. Goodnight."

With this, Emma walked past him to follow her family and just like that she was gone. George looked to the floor once she'd disappeared from sight, concealing his grin from the rest of his family – especially Christopher and Nicholas. Standing there for a long moment, he mentally praised himself for keeping silent earlier or he would have had quite a large apology to make to his grandmother about how wrong he was.


	5. Turn and Turn Again

**Quite a short chapter this time around, but since I've missed most of my upload dates I planned for myself I'll probably upload a lot within the next two weeks. **

**Chapter 5**

_3 September 1940_

There was an obvious tension throughout the day. The omnipresent emptiness was as high as it had been since George had left for wherever he was now. Everyone could feel the difference in the air that George's absence brought, but on this day especially, and for good reason.

Their small family sat around the fire in the dimly lit library, all exhausted yet having no desire to go to bed. Nicholas leaned against his father for support as his fight to stay awake was lost long ago. Mary looked across to Christopher and Elizabeth; Christopher resting his head on his fist and watching the crackling fire and Elizabeth simply staring down at her hands with a frown. Her heart nearly ached at the thought of her son, spending his nineteenth birthday away from them - the first time he'd ever spent a birthday away from home. In the silence, Mary couldn't help the sentimental memories of holding a blond-haired, blue-eyed baby who peacefully slept in her arms for hours at a time. That baby turning into a child who never seemed to leave her side and preferred her to any nanny that walked through the door. And now that baby and child had sometime turned into a young man who was somewhere in the country right now, ready at any moment to lay his life on the line for their country, and she couldn't be prouder.

Subconsciously she gripped Matthew's hand in her own, instantly feeling the rush of peace it brought her. Without even having to look at him, she could feel his eyes and see the concern in his features. Finally glancing over after a long minute, her predictions proved true as he gave a sad smile through pursed lips.

Between the five of them, their faith was growing weak as the minutes ticked by and the clock neared midnight. And as fate would have it, just when hope was wearing thin Clark entered the room, immediately spiking their hopes once more.

"Pardon my disturbance; I was only wondering if I might send the staff to bed," he asked, causing shoulders to slump.

"Of course they can. We've no need for them at this hour," Matthew said politely. Clark nodded and headed out, yet just before the door shut, there was an echoed ring from the hall - the sound they'd all been waiting for. Jolting everyone from their seats, they all poured out into the corridor where Clark was already picking up the telephone. Gathering around the butler, they waited with baited breath for Clark to confirm.

"Yes, one moment," he simply said as he handed over the golden phone to Matthew.

Matthew nearly jerked the device from the butler's hand and held it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, papa!" George said cheerfully on the other line.

Matthew grinned at the sound of his son's voice. "Hello, George, happy birthday. How are you?"

"I'm excellent. Forgive me for how late I'm calling; the Colonel said I had to wait until there would be no phone calls expected, but he's still only giving me five minutes," he explained quickly, attempting to waste no time.

"It's perfectly alright, son. I'll talk quick then. We've all quite missed you today, seems odd that you're not spending your birthday at home," Matthew replied, still smiling despite the solemnness he spoke of.

Miles away, George mirrored his father's smile. "It does, doesn't it? I do miss it terribly," he said chuckling, causing them to fall into a longing silence.

"Have you heard from Emma recently?" Matthew questioned casually.

Having not even known that his father was aware of his contact with Emma, George kept silent another moment. "Uh, yes actually. She wrote a few weeks ago saying that she would be starting university this week. How did you know we were corresponding?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Oh, a letter showed up here asking to be forwarded to you. So we put it in a different envelope and sent it on its way. I'm assuming you gave her your base's address?" he said with humor in his voice.

"I did, but I don't expect any word from her for a while as she settles in at Sheffield," George replied, glancing at his pocket watch to see two minutes had passed already.

Matthew glanced to the rest of his family standing around him, anxiously waiting for him to hang up and tell them all that was said. "Would you like to speak to your mother?"

"Yes, of course, put her on," he encouraged.

"Alright, goodbye George, and happy birthday," Matthew hesitated, wanting nothing more than to stay on the line and hear about everything he'd done since leaving in July, but five minutes was not enough.

"Goodbye papa," George gave his farewell, waiting as he heard the receiver being shuffled from hand to hand.

"George?"

"Hi mama," he said sweetly.

"Hello darling, happy birthday," Mary said with a practiced tone. "Did you receive the package we sent you?"

"I did, about three days ago," he laughed. "Thank you for all the gifts and be sure to thank everyone else for me as well."

"I will, George. How is everything? Is everything with you alright? Are you getting enough rest?" she wondered, causing George to grin at her overbearing nature. So badly he wanted to tell her everything – that he was in South London, he was learning how to operate the heavier machinery, that he could easily walk to Great Aunt Rosamund's old house from where he was, yet he could reveal none of that.

"I'm perfectly fine, mama, no need to worry about me. It's safe where I am," he said with a fake smile he knew she would have seen straight through had they been face-to-face; luckily for him there was miles between them and she would never see his tense, anxiety-filled expression.

"That's good…Something to be grateful for," Mary paused, knowing it was time to let him go. "We"ll speak to you soon, alright?"

"Of course; I'll try to write as soon as I can," George glanced out the window into the main corridor, seeing officers gathered in a small group with looks that of worry, fear, aggression and determination all spread among them. His heart lurched at the unfamiliar sight; something had to be wrong for all the officers to be in such a mode. "I should go, mama. Five minutes is almost up. Stay safe, alright? Make sure no one travels if unnecessary."

"We will, darling. You try and stay safe as well…Goodbye, George."

"Goodbye, mama." Distracted by the group outside the window, George didn't pause very long before hanging up and hurrying towards the door that led into the hollow corridor. Murmurs vibrated off the walls and into his ears.

"Should we?"

"We can't do it just yet."

"We have to act now!"

"I agree. There's no use in waiting."

"Rumours are that we have until the twenty-first."

"Exactly: rumours. It could be a bluff. And if we evacuate then Germany will have an open door straight to England!"

George made himself sparse in fear of being caught, but their words were enough to send his mind racing and heart plummeting into his stomach. What could be so awful that they saw it appropriate to evacuate? Why did they need to evacuate at all? Either way, he supposed the twenty-first would come soon enough.

_7__th__ September 1940_

Hunger. That's all George could think about: his aching hunger that wouldn't leave him in peace until dinner came in a few hours. He assumed it three by the position of the sun and sighed as there was too long of a wait until he was able to eat. Looking around, he watched as the other men did their daily scrubbing of boots and cleaning of guns. Boots that were hardly dirtied and guns that were never used. If he were honest with himself, George was quite bored at the base. Not being able to go overseas meant that you were just another body put towards the Home Guard, which had nothing in store but drills, cleaning and finding numerous ways to pass the time.

His schedule became mundane and predictable. At least at home there was actually a choice of what he could do or where he could go. In war it was all routine - this evening he would have dinner, have his clothes cleaned and perhaps write a letter to home.

Despite his enjoyment from the letters he received from home, he only wished to have Emma's address at University, but would simply have to wait for her to contact him like before. George smiled as he polished the tip of his boot. Picturing her at Sheffield, being such an admirable figure for those afraid to do what has never been done. He frowned with an afterthought: who knew when their paths would cross again? Her being away for several years and he at war, when would they have the chance? Trusting that time was on their side and they would meet someday soon, George decided he could do nothing but hope his days weren't numbered.

The base was silent; everyone drifting off into their normal stupor whilst polishing. George stopped his actions a moment, pausing to look over at the abandoned train tracks behind the fence. It had been months since they closed this portion of the railroad down for military purposes. Now it was only used for transportation between their base and the other bases located throughout London.

Ever since he'd over heard the officers' tense conversation George had been on high alert, day and night. There were only so many possibilities that called for an evacuation and he planned on being prepared for whatever that might be.

He took a deep breath and sighed, moving on to the shining of his gun.

The silence was only broken by the eerie rise of a distant siren, then another, and another, until the one that projected from the top of the base rang over them, warning all who heard of the definite fate that was upon the city. All at once, men sprang into action all around him – clutching their rifles in hand as they sprinted to their designated post. Body finally catching up with brain, George fell behind the rest and ran to the post that had been only practice for the first dozen times.

"Cromwell!" was being shouted from the Colonel. Men were extending their necks to the sky in anticipation of what was to come. Breaking into the wailing of the sirens, the sound of grinding planes met all their ears. And as fast as the atmosphere had shifted, all hunger left him, only to be replaced by a heavy knot of dread.


	6. Youth

**The second part of the tiny chapter I posted the other day. I hope I did this situation justice.**

* * *

_And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones._  
_ 'Cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone._  
_ We're setting fire to our insides for fun._  
_ Collecting pictures from a flood that wrecked our home,_  
_ It was a flood that wrecked this home._

_-Youth by Daughter_

**Chapter 6**

_7__th__ September 1940, 3:40 pm_

Matthew was buried in letters and paperwork. It had to be some odd hours he'd been sat at the large desk in the library, slouched over in the wooden chair and pinching a nerve in his neck. Glancing up from the papers in front of him, he smiled at the sight of his mother and wife walking across the grounds a good acre out. From what he could see they were chatting idly, leisurely pacing in the warm air. Breaking his gaze, Clark entered the room, silver tray in hand.

"Telegram for you, sir," he stated, lowering the tray down to him and starting back for the door once Matthew had used and returned the platinum knife.

Upon opening the telegram, Matthew noted the scribbled writing and crumpled paper – as if the letter had been stuffed into the envelope with hurried hands. It only took him mere seconds to grasp the concept of the shortly worded telegram. One word in particular among the rest.

Cromwell…Cromwell, Cromwell, Cromwell!

Gripping the telegram, he darted from his chair as adrenaline took over - knocking it to the floor and rushing outside. "MARY!" The two women notably froze in their tracks, both spinning around to see him sprinting across the lawn.

Stomach dropping at the sight and sound of Matthew's obvious panic, Mary started for him with George in her mind. "What is it? What's wrong?" she asked as he closed in on them, heart pounding in her chest.

"It's Cromwell. The Germans are closing in on London."

"What do you mean closing in on London?"

"Bombs, Mary! London is going to be bombed by Nazi planes!" he stressed, fear and panic and utter distress flowing through every fiber of his body.

The two women stared at him in pure shock. Within a second Mary knew part of the reason Matthew was filled with such dread.

"Matthew, you don't think-"

"I don't know, but I'm not going to sit here in my castle and wait to find out," he answered before starting back for the house in a stride. Mary and Isobel followed immediately, determined to stop whatever foolish plan he surely had. By the time they found him, Matthew was already in the entry hall waiting for the car and putting on his jacket.

"Matthew, where do you think you're going?" Isobel called to him near the fireplace. He turned around whilst straightening his coat.

"If George is in London then I'm not going to sit here and wait for his death certificate!"

"What are you going to do, Matthew? Stroll into a military base in the middle of an air raid to collect your son – a soldier – who is doing his job? Does that sound like it would ever work?" Mary battled whilst he paced the floor with cap in hand.

"I have to try…because if he's there and something happens I won't forgive myself, Mary. You won't forgive me either," he replied with saddened eyes, bracing himself against the large doorframe.

Mary felt all anger towards his rash decision dissipate and replaced with a heart-wrenching love. "Matthew, I don't blame you for letting George enlist. I know it was his time to go, and I'm very proud of him. But where would you even start? There is a chance that he isn't anywhere near London and you going there, running through the streets with bombs falling all around won't solve anything. If anything it could only make things worse! You could be killed for nothing! Even if George is in London he's doing his job, he's fighting and protecting the country from the damn Nazis!" she cried, trying so hard to make him see how thoughtless his plan was.

Matthew conflicted with himself a moment before sighing and finally lifting his eyes to meet hers. "When did you become the rational one?"

Mary gave him a sad smile before they both glanced back to the telegram in his hand. "Is there nothing we can do?" she asked with a tad of hope.

Defeated, he shook his head with eyes towards the ground. "No…There's nothing to be done. Even if we tried to travel to London it wouldn't make a difference – you're right, it would do more harm than good…There's nothing we can do," he answered with a tone of sudden realization.

"Why don't you both go into the library and I'll go find Robert and Cora," Isobel suggested solemnly.

They did as she suggested, heading into the seemingly hallow library. Settling into the couch with the wireless humming, they couldn't help but get the feeling of déjà vu. Here they were again. Months ago they had sat in the same manner, waiting for news. Waiting for words to be spoken that might break them into pieces. Words that could change the course of history and the fate of an entire country. Like before, a grip of the hand and Mary could feel her heart slow and courage rise. And just like before, she knew that if they had each other, everything would be alright in end.

Matthew glared towards the clock and sighed as it told him that it just past three in the morning. The rest of the house had retired hours ago, leaving him with the dying fire and words from the man on the other side of the crackling wireless. There was a knot in his stomach that hadn't released since he'd read the word "Cromwell" on that damn telegram. Since then Matthew had been sat in the same spot, listening to sirens and bombs and broadcasters that commentated it all.

After announcing her retirement for the night, he'd promised Mary he would follow shortly. Now nearly three hours later, he couldn't bring himself to move. It seemed unfair for him to sleep when meanwhile in London innocent people's homes were being burned and destroyed. But despite the guilt he felt, exhaustion took him over and he melted into the couch, quickly falling asleep to the thundering of bombs thousands of miles away.

When he woke, it was to Mary gently shaking him. She was sat next to him on the couch, dressed in her robe and looking at him with care in her eyes. "Come to bed, Matthew. You need to rest."

He chose to ignore her words and looked to the wireless perched on top of the mantle. "I want to wait until it's over," he said groggily, forcing himself to sit up and stay awake. Mary sighed at his stubbornness and decided the couch and him good as bed as any. "What are you doing?"

"You forget we've been married twenty years and after that many years it's quite difficult to sleep without you there," she replied nonchalantly, resting her head onto his shoulder. Matthew decided it best not to persist and quite frankly, didn't have the energy to. Instead, they remained silent as both their attention focused on the echoing radio. There was nothing to say that hadn't been said already: it was an awful situation, it was such a shame, it wasn't fair – none of these could make anything better, so it seemed right to say nothing at all. Neither of them knew exactly what was happening in the city so far away, or what the people and soldiers of London were experiencing – how devastating it must be. But even if they couldn't, they could only pray George was far from it.

_London, 3:00am_

Exhaustion. That's all George could feel at this point. Fear and adrenaline had worn away some time ago, leaving nothing but a shell of fatigue behind. It had been nearly seven hours since those damn Nazis had begun their attack - did they not need sleep? With lead for legs, George trotted alongside the rest of the men that had been selected to leave the base and be part of the rescue team. Four of them were carrying a man with quite severe injuries on a stretcher. With the inability to see anything from the darkness and smoke, he wasn't exactly sure what injuries but he knew there was blood saturating his clothes and dripping off the cloth of the stretcher.

If he was honest, he would rather be back at the base. At least there he would be able to fight back, defending the city and potentially ending these nightmarish hours content – rather than seeing the destruction and pain that was being inflicted down where the predators' weapons had landed.

Glancing up, George could see nothing but flames, then embers, then dark smoke swallowing the air in an opaque cloud. After the hours of running back and forth from base to a home to hospital and back again, his body felt numb and funny when he would finally come to a halt. His ears rang, muffled with the shuttering of planes and explosions of bombs and shrieks of peril. His eyes burned from fatigue and smoke, making it difficult to see any helpless civilian who could need help or even the few feet in front of him. He relied on the other three members of his squad to guide him to where they needed to be.

A few more minutes of jogging, George was relieved to finally be back at the hospital once more. They placed the unconscious man on a bed directed to by a nurse and after the multiple trips they'd made here during the night, finally stopped to really look around at the devastation. There were people lining the walls, injured and uninjured. There were hushed voices, sobs, and silence. So many bodies in so many beds along with so little nurses and so little doctors. Even with all he was doing George couldn't help but feel useless. All these people - some dead, some nearly dead, some with a person that they loved in a bed and others in the morgue – how could they all be helped? What could possibly be done that wasn't already?

With a sick feeling, George decided it time to leave. He led them all back into the night, overwhelmed by the ash and debris flying through the air. He covered his face with his sleeve, squinting in the cloud of grey. They all jogged back to the street they had been on before, passing various fire brigades, soldiers, and just as many civilians that now roamed the streets as their homes were no longer there or shortly would due to the raging flames. On the street opposite them a bomb shook the earth, nearly knocking them all to the ground. Startled, they arrived at the same street the bleeding man had been rescued from, and found it almost entirely engulfed by smoke and roaring fires. George took a deep breath before trudging further down the road, praying to God for the morning to come.

He followed the Lieutenant of their four-man group to the front of a house, a nice house in George's opinion. The only problem being that only half of it was still standing and the rest of it lay scattered hundreds of feet around with flames immersing the grounds, threatening to spread to the neighboring home. The fire brigade ran past them at that moment, quickly pulling back on the handle of the hose to allow the stream of water erupt from its tip. George then noticed four silhouettes on the sidewalk; all looking back the house he presumed belong to them. With a closer look, his heart sank into the very bottom of his stomach as he realized exactly who they were. He rushed to their side, able to clearly make out their faces the closer he got.

"Mr. and Mrs. Reed?" he cried over the chaos. Focusing on him in the dim light, Mr. and Mrs. Reed immediately looked relieved yet startled to see him.

"George?!" she whimpered through the tears already floating in her eyes. "Oh thank God! Thank God you're alright in all of this!"

George didn't know if he could be classified as "alright" but it was not the time nor the place. He glimpsed back to the half of a house and the flames that consumed the other, suddenly feeling different about the gist of this entire night. These were people he knew, people who had dined in his home, people his family was friends with.

"Are you all ok?" he asked, looking at all of their saddened faces individually.

"Yes, we're fine, George. Besides this of course, but we have what truly matters," Louis answered, very visibly forcing himself to be strong-willed for his family. "And don't worry about Emma. She has been at Sheffield for two days now."

Even though he had assumed she had already gone, hearing him say that she was miles away, far from harm, made George's entire body relax for a brief moment.

"That's good. Very good. I'm very sorry about what's happened here. I do hope you have somewhere to stay?" he wondered. Camille's eyes wandered back to the home that was no more and the fire brigadiers that were attempting to douse the bright orange cloud, subconsciously removing herself from the pointless conversation.

"We do, George. Thank you."

"Crawley! Get back over here! We have more wounded!" came the Lieutenant's shouts from the house next to theirs.

"Stay safe, George. God bless you!" Louis said as George began to turn the other direction.

"And you!" he replied over his shoulder, jogging back down the sidewalk.

"Crawley, what the hell are you doing?! Hurry up and help us!"

George quickened his pace even though they were a mere ten feet before him. In the firelight, he could make out a young boy, about Christopher's age. How he was completely quiet, George would never know fore there was his arm, nearly severed all the way through – down to the bone where he could see – blood gushing from the wound and flowing into a puddle on the stretcher. The boy glanced up at him, white as a ghost with a helpless expression on his boyish face, only then allowing George to notice the massive gash down the side of his head, already bruising deep purple.

"Alright, we're gonna have to hoist this one over our heads. Ready?" George gripped the metal pole with both hands. "1, 2, 3!" In sync, they did as instructed and settled the stretcher onto their shoulders as it was easier on the victim whilst they were running. And run they did, all together as a well-rehearsed team. "Hey, kid. I know it might be difficult right now, but I need you to try and keep talking, ok? Don't fall asleep," the Lieutenant said as they ran.

"Honestly, I don't think I could fall asleep with all this racket going on," came his reply, causing them all to grin.

"What's your name?" George asked in attempt to keep him awake.

The boy took a moment to respond, breathing ragged. "Jonathan…Moore," he responded between clenched teeth.

"Jonathan, I'm George Crawley," he introduced. "I'd shake your hand but I'd probably drop you." He could see Jonathan smirk then wince.

"You're Lord Grantham's grandson, aren't you?" he asked with slurred words.

"I am. How do you know me?" George questioned, generally intrigued.

"I've heard the Reeds next door talk about you and your family before. I heard him call you Crawley and kinda put two and two together." Jonathan replied, referring to the Lieutenant.

"Good things, I hope. Can you tell me what they said?" he pried, determined to keep him alive.

"I don't exactly remember right now," he breathed. "But I do remember them speaking about you very highly. Where are we going? Where's my mum?" the boy said, attempting to sit up but immediately brought back to earth by the intense pain he was in. "What's happening? Where are we going?!" George could feel him shaking violently, mind finally catching up with body. Shock and adrenaline wearing thin was something George hoped to never have to go through. "What's going on?!" Jonathan shouted, repeatedly trying to sit up and repeatedly crashing back onto the stretcher in agony.

"He's going into shock. Alright lads, let's move," Lieutenant cried over his shoulder, encouraging them all to speed up from their steady jog to a heart-pounding sprint. With the hospital in sight they powered on, bursting through the doors and shouting for help. George took his feet whilst the Lieutenant took his shoulders and placed him on a bed the nurses directed them towards. As they laid him on the bed, George watched as Jonathan began to heave, chest in the air and wheezing in desperate gasps for air. The nurses surrounded him, rushing for cloths and reaching for needles all with panicked yet confident faces. He watched in slow-motion as Jonathan coughed, sending blood onto the floor and nurse standing in front of him. One second, he was gasping and heaving and bleeding, and the next he was collapsed back onto the bed. Liveless. The nurses dropped whatever hurried motion they were in the middle of and started moving the other way. One pumping his chest with two hands while the rest rushed for tubes and, as carefully as possible, shoved one down his throat.

George stood in horror. His body frozen in place; swaying slightly. He nearly turned to leave until noticing the other three men were still there as well, watching with dreadful eyes as their attempts to save the young boy all fell through the cracks. They all remained in the same spot for what felt like an eternity, side-by-side with baited breath at the hope for a miracle. Minutes ticked by as the women pushed drugs and made his heart beat and pumped his lungs full of oxygen, until: "There's nothing more we can do," one of the nurses decided with a sorrowful voice. Finally letting go of his wrist, she glanced at her own. "Time of death, 4:24."

George felt dizzy. His whole being flushed with an icy feeling. Dead? He had just been alive no more than ten minutes ago. He had been talking to them. He was alive. He was alive. He was alive. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

"Alright boys, let's go," the Lieutenant said softly. George stared at the lifeless figure for a long while, realizing that this was the first time he'd seen death; actually witness it happen and the awful truth about it. His great-granny had died in her sleep, peaceful and perfectly unknowing. But this…this was a gruesome, terrible, completely horrid way to leave the earth.

Finally, with legs of lead George turned and left Jonathan behind. He followed the other three back into the night, met with nothing but an eerie silence. Smoke rolled and the wind howled, but it was utterly quiet. They looked through at the settling clouds of grey, able to make out nothing but silhouettes. The absent sound of bombs landing and planes roaring overhead seemed odd now. In the distance, the sirens signaled the all clear.

With the feeling of relief, George collapsed onto the sidewalk and released a long and shaky breath. His stomach growled and eyes burned as his brain realized it was safe. Somehow, he eventually wound up back at the base and, like the rest of the city, was quiet. No one spoke. The normally chatty ones simply sat there, focused solely on their plates of food. How did you start a conversation when the only topic could be one thing and that one thing was something nobody could bring themselves to even talk about? After breakfast and wobbly drills, George settled on his bed, body aching for rest but mind fully awake. With poor attempts at sleep, he shoved off the bunk and grabbed his pen and paper, heading outside with the determination to occupy his mind.


	7. Snow

**Hope you all had a fantastic Christmas and have a very happy New Years, I personally had a great Christmas as I'm coming to you from my brand new Mac Pro. :)**

**This chapter is just a tiny little holiday excerpt to go along with all the festivities. Also, dat DA Christmas special...wow...so many feelings.**

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_Our families huddle closely_  
_Betting warmth against the cold_  
_But our bruises seem to surface_  
_Like mud beneath the snow_

_So we sing carols softly, as sweet as we know _  
_A prayer that our burdens will lift as we go_  
_Like young love still waiting under mistletoe_  
_We'll welcome December with tireless hope_

_-Snow by Sleeping At Last_

**Chapter 7**

_December 14th, 1940_

_Dearest Emma,_

_I'm not sure you will receive this before your winter break, but if you do I hope you have a lovely break and a very happy Christmas._

_How are your studies coming along? You mentioned this semester would be quite hard, has it lived up to expectations?_

_I am very proud of all the things you're doing and can't believe how far we've both come. A year ago we were both just about to begin these new chapters of our lives and now you're nearly done with your second year of school. In a few years you'll have graduated and the war hopefully over, allowing us to properly be together. I very much look forward to the future. As a soldier in the middle of bombings, thinking of the future is what allows me to keep going every day._

_Things here are the same as I'm sure you know. London still stands and we work harder and harder every night from dusk till dawn to ensure the safety of this city and the country._

_How is your family? I hope they've recovered since I saw them last. I imagine they're staying with your uncle? _

_Know that I am quite well as I wish the same for you. Give your family my best and I'll give mine yours._

_Affectionately Yours,_

_George_

He pondered the letter, looking it over carefully before folding it and gently sliding it into the envelope. He wrote the address on the front slowly, attempting to neaten his normally messy scrawl so that it wouldn't get lost or sent back.

Once it was in the _out_ box, George trudged back through the snow that had fallen with the bombs last night, playing when he thought no one was looking; sprinting a few feet and sliding the rest of the way, nearly losing his balance and repeating this several times.

His actions were interrupted by the sight of some of the men proudly strolling while they carried a rather large pine tree between three of them.

"Where in the hell did you get that?" George said with an amused tone as he jogged up to them, sliding a bit when he came to a walk.

"We found it just outside the base – fell over after that bomb that nearly blew us all up last night!" the tall, dark-haired boy called Jack answered with a smirk. "I bet the Jerrys had no idea they were chopping down our tree for us!" he laughed. "Come on, we're gonna decorate it."

With an invitation too good to pass, George followed the three of them into the titanium hut they all shared.

Lucky for them one boy's family had sent him all the essentials for decorating a tree, and when they were done George was surprised at how lovely it actually looked with its multicolor bulbs and garland and even a steel star on top. After, they all naturally formed a large on the cots the tree was placed between.

Sitting there with everyone, drinks in hand and the wireless playing carols instead of the news for once, he couldn't help but be reminded of home. The house always felt magical at Christmas time, like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong. He could picture the lights and garland hanging from the ceiling and wrapped around the banisters, the large trees that accented the corner of nearly every room, the grand feasts that led up to Christmas Day, the church service on Christmas Eve that his brothers always hated but he very much enjoyed. George smiled as his entire body melted with remembrance of peace, putting him in a better mood than he had been in in quite a while. With his mood at a high, George slipped away into the chilled winter evening with a pen and paper.

Finding a picnic table, he brushed off the powdered snow it was layered in and sat down to write yet again.

_Dear family,_

_I'm not sure how long it took my last letter to reach you as I'm sure there was plenty of traffic after the first days of the bombings. If you did get my last letter before this one you'll already be aware that I am in London and you should know I am well and very much adjusted to the demands that have come along with the nightly sirens._

_We all woke up to snow this morning, falling lightly as we did our daily drills. Though afterwards we managed to have a small snowball fight with what inches had fallen._

_Our spirits are high today, and although it could rival nothing at home, this evening we have managed to get a tree of our own with proper lights and everything! I wish you could all see it, some of the ends are singed from the bomb that knocked it over. In the words of my friend Jack, I bet the Germans had no idea they would be chopping down a tree for us._

_Also this evening, some of the others managed to swipe a few packets of hot chocolate and tea from the kitchens, and after not having tea in over three months, I couldn't remember a better day._

_It is quiet as I write this and I can't help but see the irony that in a few hours time explosions and chaos will surround us all. But despite this, I know none of our moods will be put a damper on by a few Nazis flying over._

_I hope all your Christmases are that of joy and happiness. Please eat as much Christmas pudding as you can on my behalf and know that here in London I am thinking of you all._

_Make sure in your next letter to tell me all that happens over the holidays as well._

_With hope and God's grace, this time next year the war will be over and we'll be able to celebrate together once more. Have a fantastic Christmas and a happy New Year._

_All my love,_

_George_

_December 24th, 1940_

It was time to go, Mary knew that. Normally they'd have left fifteen minutes ago to arrive at the church within the hour, but now it was almost certain they would be those people who disrupted the service with their tardy entrance.

She could hear Matthew calling out to her in the hall followed by his rushed footsteps heading in her direction. He would forgive her when he knew what she had been reading.

The bedroom door burst open then, Matthew stepping in, out of breath and flustered. "Mary, we really should be going – Mary?" He said, startled at the sight of her with tears in her eyes and letter in hand. "What's the matter?" Matthew asked, immediately fearing for the worst.

Mary chuckled at herself. "Nothing, darling, I'm sorry. It's a letter from George," she answered, gesturing him to take the letter with a grin.

"When did this arrive?" he questioned, taking the parchment and skimming down the page until seeing his son's name signed at the bottom.

"Just now, Anna gave it to me while I was dressing."

Matthew smiled at the perfect timing George had, giving them all this wonderful present just in time for Christmas. "This is fantastic, but would you mind if I read it when we get back? It's just that we're terribly late," he cringed.

"Wouldn't you like to read it now?" Mary asked, nearly offended.

"Very much, but I don't want to keep everyone waiting, and it'll give me something to look forward to later," he explained quickly.

"Oh alright," she settled, taking the letter back from him and placing it on the dressing table before making her way towards the door. Just short of the doorway, she spun back around - nearly causing him to knock into her - with an inquisitive expression that Matthew knew to mean she was up to something. "Surely you have enough time for one more thing?" she asked, a knowing smirk on her lips.

Matthew smirked as well, shaking his head in disbelief at her unpredictable ways and leaning in to give her what she wanted. Kissing her gently, he wrapped both arms around her waist and she followed closely around his neck.

After a long moment they finally broke apart, mirroring one another's grin. "Merry Christmas, darling," he murmured.

"Merry Christmas, Matthew," Mary quietly replied, smiling up at him and sliding her hands down to the lapels of his jacket to straighten them where they'd been made untidy.

Heading out into the brisk winter air with their family, they could both agree that even though one was missing, they were very blessed given the circumstances many other families all across the world were facing this Christmas. Many families suffering the loss of a son or father or were forced to spend their holidays in a different home, only because their own was no longer there.

They were happy to celebrate the fact that they were all alive and well this Christmas, and somehow found themselves feeling as though nothing could ever break this light feeling. Of course, like all good things, this feeling would come to an end and they would soon be back to the world where their thoughts were of George in peril, of the constant fear that a telegram would arrive and confirm all their worries.

But now was not the time. Today was an excuse to forget all worries and in this moment, they chose to do exactly so.


	8. Let You Go

**Hello there. I feel really bad because I keep uploading these really short chapters. But the next one is super long and a good one and it will be going up soon, so stay tuned. **

**After reading, do all that stuff that makes an author happy, and thanks to those last time who did the stuff that makes me happy.**

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_It might take every piece of you_  
_It takes your breath_  
_It takes your heart_  
_It can take your world apart_  
_To let you go_  
_It takes my soul_

_-Let You Go by Katie Herzig_

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**Chapter 8**

_January 20th, 1941_

The air was rigid. Freezing temperatures leaked in from outside where currently, the grounds were almost completely invisible due to a raging blizzard. It had been snowing routinely for three days now, leaving nearly a foot of snow in it's wake.

Mary watched out the window as three of her boys were romping around in the thick mess, having a right snowball fight that went all beyond the gentleness of that when they were young. With Christopher turning sixteen next month and Nicholas fourteen later this year, their games were much more violent now.

She observed as Nicholas chucked a snowball with all his might and colliding right on the side of his dear papa's face. Mary couldn't help but laugh, breath fogging the glass as she did. Matthew seemed stunned a moment, no doubt at the chilling mess that was now frozen to his cheek, hair, and ear. He grinned all the same as he brushed the snow from his even more red face.

Mary thought it best she turn away from the window to avoid the mother's instinct and save her son from what icy torture Matthew might inflict on him for revenge.

She made her way downstairs and into the library, feeling quite thankful for the roaring fire that warmed the large room immensely.

Before she even had time to open a book, all three of them came bustling into the library, red-faced and sopping wet.

"How was it then?" she asked as Christopher and Nicholas began removing their extra layers, hanging them over the screen in front of the fireplace to dry.

"Quite fun," Chris spoke, tugging his bulky sweater off. "Nick threw a snowball right into papa's ear," he enthused.

"Then papa buried me in the snow!" Nick said from the floor near the fireplace where he now sat.

"Yes, I can see that," Mary chuckled, reaching over to comb a hand through his soaking wet hair. She looked to Matthew then, grinning at his red cheeks and watering eyes.

Matthew shrugged, giving her a knowing smile and plopping onto the settee opposite her. "I had to show them who's in charge. Though I may be old that doesn't mean I can't defend my honour."

Mary shook her head, thankful for the very prideful and good man that he was.

The door opened then and Clark stepped inside, a set frown on his drooping features. "Letter for you, sir," he said dryly, lowering the silver to allow Matthew to take the knife and brown envelope. Matthew mumbled his thanks and Clark took his leave, giving a curt nod to Mary on his way out.

Mary noted the confounded look on her husband's face as he read the letter. Her heart jumped, worst scenarios coming to mind.

"Matthew?" she quietly begged. "What is it?"

He took a moment to finish the letter, giving Mary enough time to nearly go mad with anticipation, dangling off the edge of her seat. When he reached the end, he gripped the letter in his hands, then turned his attention to his sons.

"Boys," he stated with a curt smile. "Why don't you take your wet things upstairs and change?"

Both knowing it best not to pry, they gathered their clothes and without another word.

"It's from the War Office," he said as he passed her. Mary snatched the letter, panic flooding her every vessel. "It's not about George," he quickly dismissed, pausing a long while as his eyes met hers. Sighing, "It's about me."

Mary being Mary, she knew exactly what this letter would say. There was nothing else the War Office could possibly want with her husband besides it.

Beginning to tremble, she forced herself to read.

_To Captain M. Crawley,_

_It is because of your honourable services to your country in the Great War, your leadership as a Captain in the Royal Army, and the heroic injuries that you sustained, that qualifies you to be a highly ranked member of the Home Guard._

_This letter is to request your recruitment to London and for you to understand that your addition would be that of greatness and a building block in protecting our nation's capital. As we do have many Home Guards all over the country, it could easily be said that the London Home Guard has been the most active. Thus, requiring the most men and most courageous leaders._

_The London Home Guard asks for your aid in training soldiers – practice with firearms, live ammunition, and grenades. We feel with your experience and training, these tasks would be that of ease and also a large part in the war effort._

_Should you feel called to join the London Home Guard, please reply to this letter at the address on the envelope and state that you would like to do so. You will then receive another letter with the date, time and address that you should report for duty._

_Note that the Home Guard is taken as a sincere act of service that is not taken lightly and should not be taken that way by any man. A decision to enlist in the Home Guard is the equal of enlisting in the Royal Army and those recruited will be treated likewise._

_Thank you for the consideration,_

_Brigadier D. G. Stuart_

_Direct of Plans, War Office_

"Will you accept it?" she brusquely questioned, a cross expression in her face.

Matthew leisurely reclined into the sofa, turning his head to watch the fire. Mary watched the flames dance in his eyes and reflect on the half of his face that was in her direction, his eyebrows knit together in deep thought.

"I'm not sure," he answered after a long moment, raising his eyes to look at her. "Would you resent me if I did?"

Her pain-stricken face was all he needed to understand how she felt about that. She was many things, but resentful was not one of them. For as long as he'd known her she was never one to blame, never one to pin him with his mistakes or flaws.

"Don't be daft, Matthew," she blatantly stated as if it was the most absurd thing she'd ever heard.

Despite himself, he grinned, following her gaze to the crackling flames. Her reassurance was all he needed to make his decision, no matter what it be.

"Being a Captain, it wouldn't be so bad. I would get weekend leave. I would have good living quarters. I would be able to call everyday, if you wanted. Less danger, minimal chance of injury," he rattled off, attempting to convince her that this wasn't a bad thing. "It won't be like last time. There won't be terrible deaths and bloody battles. And it's only until the air raids stop...And it's something to do besides sit in this house when I could be doing something to benefit the war effort," he spoke gently, a sad smile on his lips.

They remained in silence. Mary still fingering the letter and staring at the signature on the bottom of the page. She was losing all the men she loved to this foolish war.

"It's whatever you want," he said through the extended quiet. "You don't have to decide now, but if you give me your blessing I know I can do it."

She closed her eyes in a state of distress. How could she make this decision for him? Of course she didn't want him to go. But this wasn't about what she wanted, truly. No matter how much Matthew tried to make it about her, this was about him and she wouldn't keep him from doing what he sincerely desired to. He would be alright. He'd come through a brutal war before. He knew what he could handle. He will be alright.

"Alright...I know you, Matthew. And you want this. So, whatever it's worth, you have my blessing. Just don't get blown up, because I _will_ resent you then," Mary said, causing him to laugh at her clamant words.

She caught sight of his eyes, happiness sparkling in piercing blue.

He would be alright.


	9. Brightest Hour

**Hello there! You've got the longest chapter to date in your wake - a very important one if I may say. Welcoming back some characters I promised I would write for and the reoccurring, of course.**

**Thanks for your support as always, reviews, favorites, all that stuff. I go through them all. Enjoy.**

* * *

Wandering through starry skies  
And when tomorrow's day arrives  
I'll be a moment closer to the  
Brightest Hour here with you

_-Brightest Hour by The Submarines_

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Sybil age 45

Tom age 57

Avia age 20

Clara age 17

_June 2__nd__, 1941 12:26am_

_Ring._

Clark froze his movements. Had he officially gone mad, hearing bells when there really weren't any? He put down the pen, left the paperwork, and made his way into the hall.

_Ring. Ring._

Surely he wasn't that mad to be imagining these urgent chimes of the doorbell.

Clark hurried into the dining hall, flicking on the light to see the front door's bell swaying. He cursed under his breath. Who in God's name was ringing at this hour?

Jogging up the stairs and turning on the lights as he went, he was met by Lady Mary as she came down the stairs, closely followed by Mr. Matthew. It was only then Clark realized that not only were they ringing the bell, but quite loudly banging on the door as well.

He said nothing to the two that followed him into the entry way. Surely it had to be a drunken village idiot who had sauntered their way up to the house.

With a new found annoyance, Clark unlocked the large doors and flung them open in preparation for the lecture he was about to give. Only when he did so he did not find what he expected, but in its place four familiar faces that he held the utmost respect for.

"Sybil?" Mary said in disbelief, coming forward to pull her sister inside and out of the chilled night air. "What are you all doing here?" she questioned, examining them and noting they had nothing but the clothes on their backs.

"We're very sorry for barging in like this but we had no other choice," Tom started, spinning as Clark took his coat.

"What's going on?" Elizabeth's voice sounded from the middle of the room, causing them all to turn. Christopher and Nicholas were right on their sister's heels, all watching their Uncle, Aunt and cousins with startled expressions.

"It's alright, Liz," Sybil addressed her darling niece. "We're all alright. Should we wake mama and papa?" she turned to Mary, seeking her eldest sister's judgment.

Mary nodded. "Yes, Elizabeth go and wake them. Try not to startle them though."

"Yes, mama," she replied, nearly shoving her little brothers out of the way as she turned around to go back up the stairs.

"Clark, will you get someone to prepare three rooms please? And some clothes as well," Matthew ordered, nodding in appreciation to the sleepy looking butler.

"Of course, sir," he answered, leaving them at once.

"Is this about the bombings?" Mary asked, eyes flickering between Sybil and Tom. They glanced at one another, their solemn faces reflecting in each other's. Sybil merely nodded in return, any kind of response they were about to make was suffocated by Robert and Cora hurrying downstairs with Elizabeth trying to catch up behind them.

Even given the circumstances, Sybil smiled at the sight of her parents and their clearly startled appearances no matter how gentle Elizabeth might have broken the news of them being there. They were one of the many things that never changed. No matter the years or time that passed, Sybil could always rely on the fact that Lord and Lady Grantham always stood tall and mighty. The relief that swept through her at that moment was too overwhelming she began to cry, quickly rushing towards them and embracing her father first and then her mother.

"Sybil, what's happened? Are you all alright?" Robert asked as Sybil retracted her grip on her beloved mother.

"Yes, papa, we're all perfectly fine," she answered, swiping the tears from her cheeks. "I'll explain everything shortly, but first I think the girls would like to have something to eat and go to bed."

Clark had returned by then, waiting for his moment to speak. "I'll have Anna bring up trays when she brings their clothes, milady," he answered smoothly.

"Elizabeth, will you take your cousins to their rooms?" Mary requested.

"Of course," she replied with a courteous smile, looking to Avia and Clara who hadn't spoken a word the whole time they'd stood behind their parents. They made their way to Elizabeth, bidding everyone a quiet goodnight and following close after her.

"Same goes for you, boys. It's late," Matthew addressed Christopher and Nicholas who stood like stone in the corner, hoping no one would notice they were standing there.

Instead, they inwardly sighed and retired with a "Yes, sir."

"Should we move into the library?" Robert suggested when the boys were just out of earshot.

"Yes, that would be best," Tom agreed, already leading them all into the moonlit room. Sybil sat next to Matthew and Mary on the couch while Tom chose to stand, arms crossed and gazing at the orange glow coming from the lamp beside him. It was only now that the rest of them noticed the tense form of anger and fear he was wearing.

The room was quiet a moment, the rest of them waiting for Sybil or Tom to speak.

"Tom?" Sybil said softly, attempting to coax him from his stupor.

"As you probably know, a day ago Dublin was bombed," he began after a long moment. "It had been on high alert since the other bombings in January. At the beginning of May it was even more constricted, there were officers on the streets, military trucks and cars racing through the city, drills in the middle of the day," he paused, taking a deep breath. "We had been discussing the possibility of coming to visit just until everything seemed clear, but we didn't even get the chance to send you a telegram that we were coming because the damn Luftwaffe were back before we could even pick up a pen," he spoke with severe bitterness, jaw clenched. "The sirens went off – I thought it might be just another drill – but after a few moments you could hear the planes in the distance. We got out in enough time…but everything's gone," he finished quietly, nearly whispering the awful truth.

There was a long, stunned silence as everyone tried to really grasp what he was saying.

"What's gone?" Robert asked, trying to make sense of his words.

Tom nearly snapped. How could they not understand? He didn't even want to say it, the thought of it all made him physically ill.

"Everything. The house, all we own, every personal belonging we had, clothes, furniture, everything! It's gone. Out of all the chances of a shell falling anywhere it landed directly on top of our house. All we've ever worked for over the past decades is worth nothing because some damn Nazis thought it wise to drop a shell on it!" he cried, pacing the floor with fists clenched. "Of all the places the godforsaken bomb could land it lands right there."

Tom breathed heavy, letting the room go quiet before collapsing in the desk chair with his head in his hands.

"Well the important thing is you're all safe and together. No one was hurt and that's something to be thankful for," Cora attempted to cheer them, earning nothing but silence. "Now I think it best we retire. Some rest could do us all some good."

They all moved slowly and quietly into the foyer. Tom being the last, Matthew took the opportunity to speak with him.

"I'm very sorry about all this. If there was any way I could help I would, but the money I do have is technically not mine to give," he said somberly, looking ahead to where Sybil and Mary were climbing the stairs in silence.

"Thank you. I don't expect Robert to just up and buy us a new house and quite frankly I don't think I could accept it even if he did," Tom replied, equally grave. "I don't know where to go from here. My job is in Dublin but with nowhere to live how can we possibly remain there?" he stated mostly to himself.

"Well, you have a home here. And you and Sybil can stay as long as you need. I know Mary will enjoy having her sister's company for however long, and the children enjoy having their cousins around as well," Matthew tried to persuade, doing little as Tom let out a long breath.

"You are right, only I don't want days to turn into weeks and weeks to turn into months that pass without any production on moving back to Dublin."

"You won't wait until it is absolutely safe again? I mean, sure you may progress but will it be worth the effort if it all comes crashing down again?" Matthew questioned, causing Tom to silently huff.

"I suppose you're right, but surely we can't wait until the war is over? That could be years in the future! There has to be something else."

"This is war time, Tom. Everyone must come together and try to live with the circumstances they've been given. The country is under attack, this whole war is just an attempt to survive, and if we're lucky we'll all come through on the other side unharmed. For now just try and be patient."

Tom seemed to ponder Matthew's words, glaring at a fixed point behind him.

"I know you're right in this but I can't help the urge to get back up and go home just to prove a point to the Nazis that we're not taking any of the bollocks they're throwing. I guess it's a pride thing," Tom said, both men chuckling lightly. He nodded in thanks to Matthew and started up the grand staircase, quite doubtful at his ability to live the aristocratic lifestyle for as long as it would most likely take for peacetime to come.

_June 4__th__, 1941_

Since he was a little boy George had highly awaited for this day; the day where he got to do his older brother duties and be there to intimidate any other bloke that looked like he might even go near his sister. Despite his own joy, George was indeed excited for Elizabeth's coming-out. Not only did it mean her presentation to the rest of the country but it also meant the chance to be with his family for forty-eight hours leave.

How his grandfather has managed to grant him two days leave with just a letter he would never know…

George smiled out the window of the train as the blurred figures of trees, farms, and countryside passed by. He rocked back and forth with every movement the compartment made, feeling sleepy and peaceful with the evening sun radiating through the glass. With the Blitz coming to an end just a couple weeks ago, he found it easier to fall asleep than ever. Staying asleep was a different situation entirely; his body had grown accustomed to being woken whenever he attempted to rest. He was trained to run on less than four hours in the evening and run all over London from dusk till dawn.

After what felt like eternity, Downton station finally came into view. The platform was empty and quiet, nearly dark in the setting summer sun.

George glanced around, finding nothing but unfamiliar faces and no chauffeur. He glanced at his pocket watch: 8:53. His train had almost been a half an hour late.

With the realization that no one was coming for him, George sighed and started down the road. Despite the few stiff muscles in his arms and back, he was quite thankful for the walk. The evening was warm and light, making it comfortable enough to hike in his uniform. He stumbled across a few children playing in the street and nearly laughed at the looks of awe they gave him in passing. How much a simple uniform and title could intrigue a child. He greeted them and after they're initial shock wore off, they invited him to play cricket.

"I'm sorry, I can't. I have to be somewhere. Thank you though," George answered the young boy that had invited him. "Perhaps next time."

He grinned and continued on. Familiar with his surroundings, he hardly needed to look as he strolled across the street, down the sidewalk, and past the cemetery until faced with the lovely home that belonged to his grandmother. Not wanting to disturb her with his company at this hour, George reluctantly knocked on the door and waited.

"Master George?" a flustered Simmons said standing in the archway.

"Sorry to bother so late, but it seems that my family didn't receive the telegram of my arrival today, leaving me without a way to get home. So I was wondering if I might use my grandmother's car. Is she here?" he asked, peering behind Simmons, who took a step back.

"I'm afraid not, sir. She's up at the abbey tonight helping set up the debutante, but I can pull the car around if you'd like?"

"Yes, please. It'd be much easier than walking the whole way," he replied with a grateful smile.

"Christopher, help your Aunt Sybil with that. Nicholas, please be careful with those," Mary commanded from the middle of the saloon.

Matthew chuckled from the corner as he helped Anna hang a strand of flowers. "She'll give herself an ulcer if she keeps it up," Anna commented, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk. "She should really just let the staff worry about decorating the house, you both have enough to worry about as it is with miss Elizabeth."

"If you only had any idea how many times I've told her that. Of course being Mary, she has to be stubborn," he answered.

"I suppose it is only right to want everything to be perfect with so many nobles coming."

"Matthew, can you come and help me with these blasted tables?" Mary called from the other side of the room, struggling in attempt to move the wooden tables across the floor and out of the way.

"Go on, I can handle this," Anna told him, taking what remaining flowers were in his hands.

Matthew nodded his thanks and hurried over to his struggling wife. Finishing lifting the small tables to where she wanted them, Matthew sighed, giving her a look of disapproval. "Mary, stop worrying so much about every extravagant detail. You should take a break, you've been at this since the crack of dawn."

"You take a break. We'll most likely only do this once at Downton, I'd like it to be impressive – for Elizabeth especially."

Matthew smiled, shaking his head in admiration at the way she cared for her children. His thoughts were interrupted by Clark entering the room with an uncertain demeanor and speaking quite clearly: "Master George Crawley."

Matthew and Mary exchanged confused glances, everyone's actions seized, all stopping to watch the strapping young man enter behind the butler. He was grinning from ear-to-ear, shrugging out of his coat and handing it to Clark.

Having it been nearly an entire year since seeing him, the family was rightfully quiet.

"Oh, my darling boy." Mary rushed towards George, enveloping him in a tight embrace.

"You sound surprised to see me," he remarked once she'd let him go.

"Of course we are, why wouldn't we be?" Matthew answered behind Mary.

It was Isobel's turn to give her grandson a proper hug as well.

"Didn't grandpapa tell you I was coming? I assumed since he wrote the letter to my commanding officer -" Glancing at his grandfather George found nothing but a smug smirk.

"You knew he was coming?" Sybil exclaimed with a smile. "And you didn't tell anyone?"

"It must have slipped my mind. I am getting old, you see," Robert replied, winking towards George.

"So if you knew I was coming, Grandfather, why didn't you send a car?" George wondered.

Robert bounced on the balls of his feet, dipping his head. "Yes, that really did slip my mind. I suppose I am old. How did you get here?"

"I had to walk to your house, Grandmama. Simmons was kind enough to allow me to use the car. I hope you don't mind," George addressed Isobel.

"Of course not, dear. Now I won't have to bother poor old Peters this late at night."

"How long are you here for?" Cora asked with a bright smile, not expecting much time nevertheless.

"Just for tomorrow - for Elizabeth's coming-out. My train leaves the following morning at eleven. I only wanted to be here for the honour of scaring away all the blokes that might try something," he explained, looking towards his sister with a smirk.

In true sibling style, Elizabeth decided it necessary to embarrass her brother as well once releasing him from her embrace.

Before she had the chance to, she was cutoff by their mother.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, both hands to his face. "You look quite peckish."

"I am actually. I haven't eaten since lunch on the train."

"Good. Clark, can you ask one of the kitchen maids to make a few sandwiches? And also one of the footmen to take his things up to his room and run a bath?"

"Of course, m'lady," Clark bowed and left them.

"I don't want to be made a big deal over," George murmured once Clark was out of sight.

"Nonsense, you only have forty-eight hours at home. You might as well enjoy every minute. You're planning on wearing your tails tomorrow right?"

"Actually, I was appointed to Lieutenant. I brought the mess wear in my case." Rings of praise and joy met his ears, mostly from his father and grandmother. George was quite glad that no one saw this as a negative thing – well, almost everyone. His mother gave no more than a curt smile, clearly filled with despair that his twentieth birthday was approaching and the law for underage men being forced to stay within the country would no longer apply to him.

"How delightful! Even more reason to celebrate," Isobel congratulated. "What made them decide to promote you?"

"Well, my commanding officers think I have good potential. They said that when the time comes I will be a valuable asset to the men overseas."

"That's fantastic, George. I'm positive you'll be an admirable leader," his father said, clapping him on the back.

"Thank you, papa," George replied, grinning with pride. He turned his attention to the lavish decorations that lined the entire room. "It all looks fantastic. This must have certainly taken you all day."

"More like three," Christopher mumbled under his breath, earning a proper glare from his sister.

"With us all and the staff working at the same time it really hasn't taken that long," Elizabeth defended.

George hummed in retaliation, smiling at his brother's miserable face.

Andrew entered the room then, seeing it as a good opportunity to let Master George know that his room and bath were ready.

"I'll let you all get back to work then, excuse me," he dismissed himself and trotted up the stairs and into his old room with the faintest nostalgia settling in his stomach. He'd forgotten just how elegant his home was in comparison to the grey, cold military base.

Walking into the bathroom, the sight of a steaming bath made him visibly relax. Carefully undressing, George couldn't help but grin as the sensation of the hot water reduced him into complete ecstasy.

Noting the window above him was open, he lifted both dripping arms from the bath and grabbed his jacket from the floor and reached into the inside pocket to grab the two things he couldn't seem to live without these days. The simple sound of the lighter made his hands slacken, holding the flimsy paper between his fingers made his muscles loosen, and taking the first deep puff of the intoxicating nicotine could make him tranquil like nothing else.

Before he'd left George had promised himself he wouldn't be like all the others and give into the nasty habit. But after the first nights of The Blitz, his nerves were shot and he couldn't sleep, and an offer from one of his bunk mates was the only thing it took for him to go the next day amidst the smoke and rubble to the general store and purchase as many packs two pounds could buy him.

Truly it did help. When he was scared or anxious it was one of the only comforts he had.

Now he was breathing in the sweet smoke because it was a craving; a new part of his daily life. And as much as he did enjoy it, he now promised himself that when war was over he would stop, mostly because he hated relying on something so small to give him comfort and also because he despised smelling of it constantly.

For now, while he still had the chance, George slowly inhaled the last puff from this cigarette, held his breath, and then so painfully exhaled, watching the grey cloud roll out the window.

* * *

_June 5th, 1941_

He felt odd, like he'd forgotten something. He was looking at his house; his beautiful home…and for some reason the only thing he could think about was the fact that all over the world men were lying in trenches or tents or holes or just on the cold hard ground and here he was: warm and filled with delicious food, talking with high aristocrats and mighty rulers from all over England, enjoying himself and being happy while his fellow countrymen were dying.

George tried to smother the feeling with brandy and champagne but he could not shake the dense guilt that took every ounce of energy from his body.

He put down his half-finished champagne flute, deciding it best to not be drunk at his own sister's coming out celebration.

As he turned back around George came face-to-face with two girls, both undeniably younger than he and both undeniably heavily intoxicated.

"Hello there, soldier," the blonde of the two purred, entering the personal bubble George liked to have for himself and nearly tumbling over in the process.

"Good evening, ladies. What can I do for you?" he politely acknowledged, holding his breath at the combined smell secreting from them burned his nose.

"You know," the other, brown-haired girl began, sloshing the champagne in her glass terribly close to the edge. "My friend and I love a good soldier," she murmured, finally spilling half of her drink onto his shoes.

Frustrated, George searched the crowd for a way out of this conversation and eventually found it in his sister in the middle of the floor, dancing with a suitor that looked like a threat in his eyes.

He excused himself from the fourteen year old alcoholics and made his way through the crowd of people surrounding the large dance floor, then maneuvering through the dancers and tapping the shorter boy on the shoulder.

"Mind if I step in?" George asked the wide-eyed boy who quickly glanced at his bright and shiny uniform and practically ran in the other direction.

He chuckled, facing his laughing sister who was also glaring at him in disbelief. "How do you ever expect me to find a suitor if you keep scaring them off?" Elizabeth exclaimed as George took her hands to continue the dance.

"You should be thanking me, dear sister. Any man who runs when he faces your brother doesn't deserve your hand in the first place."

Elizabeth shook her head and smiled. "I'm sorry I didn't get to speak with you earlier. How are you, George?"

He frowned a fraction of a second. Never would he let his innocent and pure little sister know the inside of war. Somehow she'd remained good all her life. She'd been happy and unharmed by the world, and he refused to be the person to take that from her by telling stories.

"I'm fine, truly," George answered, smiling despite her worried look. "Really, Liz, everything is alright. Don't worry about me."

"Of course I worry about you. Most of the time you're all mama and papa talk about. It's quite annoying really," she teased. He laughed, briefly scanned the crowd, and frowned. "What's the matter?"

Only now did he realize he'd stopped their movement and was now standing in the middle of the room, staring. The waltz from the band stopped, as did the other couples around them. She came in and out of vision as passers obscured the set path his eyes were locked with.

"Oh yeah. I made sure she was invited," Elizabeth broke his thoughts and the party regained life around them. He looked as his little sister in awe and for the first time realizing just how grown up she was. "You can thank me later," she cheekily said, pursing her lips in an expecting smile. "Go on!" she encouraged when he stared at her blankly.

Completely tuning out any other words from his sister, George crossed the room, fought the crowd, and joined Emma in the corner where she stood. As he'd been picturing this moment for months, he could do nothing but keep his eyes locked on hers to make sure it was in fact real.

"Hello, George," her sweet lips spoke.

"Hello," he eventually choked out, leaving them in silence until Emma blushed and looked away. "How are you? Well I hope," George nervously sputtered.

"I am, thank you. And you? How are you?" she questioned, expecting nothing but the expected. With her studying medicine she knew the physical and mental tolls that war took on men. Awful things led to awful trauma, both during war and after.

"I'm fantastic now that you're here," he grinned. "Actually…it is quite hot in here. Would you like to get some air?"

Emma took no time in replying, looking over his shoulder at the drunken girls that had been invading every sense of George's personal space and were now looking directly at her and rolling their eyes. "I would love some air."

They strolled the grounds in the clear night sky that bathed the acres of his home in bright moonlight. They walked in silence for a while, thankful for the brisk summer evening.

"How are your parents?" he broke the still quiet. "The last time I saw them was under unfortunate circumstances. I couldn't tell you how happy I was that you weren't with them."

Emma smirked. "They're…if I tell the whole truth, not well." At his concerned face she elaborated. "After the bomb they went to my uncle's house. With no work and no house, they feel like intruders, like they're a bother to my aunt and uncle. Despite that, my father seems to have found solace in a bottle of brandy every night which just makes my parents argue. But that's all that my sister has sent me in letters, perhaps there's more. They are here by the way, but papa is most likely glued to the corner of the room with a drink in his hand and mama is probably bouncing from person to person so fast you can't keep eyes on her for more than a second."

George digested her words, saddened that there was nothing he could do.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could help them somehow. I'd give them money but I feel they wouldn't take it, and I also don't have any authority over my own finances," he teased.

She smiled, thankful for his company. "You're right, they wouldn't take it. They wouldn't take it if it was handed to them on a silver platter. They're stubborn that way," Emma murmured, drifting off into her own thoughts.

They walked a few more moments in silence before coming to the top of the hill where George always raced his brother when they were little. It was a relatively small hill, but the view from the top was that of the entire grounds and beyond that.

"Your home is beautiful," she sighed with eyes focused on the glowing castle. "Like an ocean liner on the dark and wavy sea."

"Yes, although it is a shame they had to have the ball here instead of London. I had always looked forward to it being in London. The summer house has a great sense of fun. When I was younger I thought I could get away with anything the few weeks we were there."

"And did you?" Emma asked in the dark.

He could hear her smiling as she awaited his answer.

"Sometimes," he replied teasingly. George plopped down in the soft grass; legs sprawled out before him with no care of stains in the world. And he wasn't surprised when she joined him, cross-legged and smiling. "Once when I was ten, I told Christopher that there was a ghost in the house that was known to steal the youngest children from a family. He was so terrified that he and Nicholas would be taken that he couldn't sleep that night and went crying to my parents. When they asked me who'd filled his head with such nonsense, I blamed it on our cousin who was staying with us at the time," he paused, laughing at the recollection of the memory. "My Aunt Edith was not pleased when she thought it was her son who'd told such an awful thing to a six-year-old, and luckily Chris was so preoccupied he never corrected them."

They were both laughing now.

"Perhaps you should come clean to your parents, don't you think?" she suggested between chuckles. "Clear your cousin's name?"

"No, I don't think so. My parents would still be upset at this point in time. Maybe in the far future, when they're old and hard-at-hearing. Besides, my cousin is still a bit wonky. He always thought he was better than the rest of us ever since he was quite young."

"And what does this wonky gentleman do now?" she wondered.

"Well, he mostly lives off my aunt and uncle's pension. It's expected, my uncle is ranked highly with a magazine, so they're well-off."

"I thought he was close to your age?"

"Oh, he is. About a year younger in fact...You wonder why he isn't in the King's Army?" Emma nodded. "Well, like I said, he's wonky. As soon as the war started they packed up and went off to America," George replied bitterly, picking at the grass beneath him.

"Sounds cowardly if you ask me," she spoke into the resentful silence that followed his words. He was caught off-guard by this, but it surprisingly comforted him. His mouth curved into a smile as he looked back to his house.

"Yes, I suppose it is."

The brief moment of happiness was destroyed for George as his twisted and routine senses surrounded him with the echoed roaring of planes and lone sirens, explosions, the ground quaking under his feet, aromas of smoke and ash. He squeezed his eyes shut as his ears started to ring and hands began to shake.

"So how long are you back for?" she asked, looking at him through the shadows.

He swallowed and stuffed his trembling hands in his pockets, trying to gain back what composure he could manage.

"I catch the train back to London Friday afternoon," George answered, pulse racing through his veins. "If I'm quite frank, I long to be old enough to be shipped overseas. Of course being in London is close to home and I enjoy the men I'm with…but London will never be the same to me. Even though the Blitz is over it will always be the city of rubble and disaster. They can rebuild and start over but all I'll ever see is fire and smoke and people losing their homes or dying in a blast," he spoke deeply, voice low with grief.

"You've started to smoke haven't you?" she asked bluntly, gazing over at him.

After a stunned moment, he answered. "Yes."

"Don't worry, I understand. It's a stress relief. All men of war do it."

"How'd you know?" he questioned, impressed with her knowledge of seemingly everything.

"You forget I'm studying medicine, Private Crawley. You're eyes are bloodshot and you have dark circles, which I just assumed was from a lack of sleep, but what really gave it away was your yellow tinted fingers and the fact that you've been rubbing them together like something was missing."

George looked down at his hands, staring at them with a disappointed glare. Suddenly the lighter and packet of cigarettes on the inside of his coat felt like lead. He pulled them both out and held them tightly in his hand but not daring to light one.

"Lieutenant," he muttered, examining the glossy packet in his hands that shone despite the dim light.

"What?"

He paused before answering, inhaling sharply. "It's Lieutenant Crawley now…I was promoted last week. They said that I'm 'Very promising,' and that when the time came in September for me to have my own platoon, I would 'Lead with great courage.'"

"Oh," Emma breathed. "That's fantastic. Congratulations…You're going to be a wonderful leader," she encouraged, beaming at him. Soon her smile faded and she stared at the ground with a crossed expression. "I worry about you," she calmly stated. "I worry about you," she drew a breath, and exhaled, "all the time…every minute of every day," she shrugged with a sad look on her face. "At night I think about you before I sleep and hope that maybe wherever you are…you can feel me thinking about you, which is bloody mad because that kind of soul mate stuff doesn't exist, right? There's no fifth sense that allows me to send you some type of sign. That's all complete rubbish…isn't it?"

George merely smiled and looked at the horizon of trees and patches of fields. "When my father was in the first war…he got injured, severely. So severe that they thought he'd never walk again. And the moment that he got hurt - miles away in some battlefield, when that shell went off and he was thrown into a ditch - my mother tells the story of how she felt something unworldly come over her. She said it felt like ice water running down her entire body and she went completely numb, dropping her cup of afternoon tea all over the floor. Now any true Englishman will tell you that it had to be something extremely serious for a British native to discard their cup full of tea. It was only many years later, after I was born, that they pieced that puzzle together and discovered that that fifth sense soul mate rubbish does exist…How? I have no idea, but it does, and I'd say it's a pretty powerful force."

He placed the carton and lighter back inside his pocket, smiling brightly.

"So you're saying that if I feel a chill you may be dying somewhere?" she teased, causing him to wholeheartedly laugh for the first time in a long while.

"Yes," he said between chuckles. "I suppose I am…or maybe you're right and my parents are just mad." Still beaming from ear-to-ear George stood, brushing off his hands and extending one towards her. "Come on, I would like to dance with you at least once this evening."

Emma grinned, slipping her tiny hand inside his large one and allowing him to pull her from the cool grass and into the cooler night air. Before he could drag her off she stopped, jerking his arm and meeting him face-to-face.

It was in that very brief but lagged moment, with her face saturated in the glowing night light and her eyes flicking from his own to his mouth and back again, he knew in the deepest part of him that he was undoubtedly, unquestionably in love with her. And it scared the hell out of him.

Before he had time to be terrified his mouth met hers in an array of warmth and sparks.

His thoughts from a moment ago had gone. He was a blank mess of surprise and relief and joy.

His skin tingled where she touched him on the back of his neck.

He gently gripped the small of her back.

She tasted of champagne.

His heart pounded in his ears.

It felt like an eternity when in actuality it was no more than a few seconds.

George unintentionally wobbled backwards, breaking the connection abruptly.

He stared at her for a long second until her lips formed a terribly bewitching smile. Despite his stupor state, he beamed as well, heart fluttering in his chest.

"Right," Emma breathed. "Now we can dance."

George couldn't shake how proud of herself she looked, starting towards the house with a spring in her step.

He grinned, shaking his head in disbelief before jogging to catch up with her.

He knew that come what may they would have this moment. No matter what happened in their future, they would have this.


	10. Faded

**Hello again! I must admit I'm in a really sad mood right now due to some tragic stuff over on Grey's Anatomy. If you watch that show feel free to DM me and we can have support group.**

**Other than that, on with the chapter, which is not that happy either. Sorry.**

* * *

_I'm faded out_  
_ No more straight lines,_

_We shared the very same room_  
_ The very same bed with love,_  
_ Bad night she fell asleep_  
_ I flew away and I'll never stop,_  
_ We cry every night_  
_ Words are broken all the time_

_-Faded by Barcelona_

* * *

**Chapter 10**

_August 21st, 1941_

"Oi! Over here, over here!"

Of all things that he loved in life playing a competitive game of football in the cool Summer's eve had to be one of his favorites.

George's eyes snapped up, landing on his target: James Alburn near the goal; determination and anticipation written on his features as he sped towards the line drawn in the dirt that signaled a point. One swift movement of the ankle and he sent the leather ball soaring through the air, becoming a dot in the orange sky. George watched as it stopped its acceleration and began descending towards Earth.

James braced himself for impact, standing on tiptoes and angling his head in just the write position to out rank the opposing defenders that now surrounded him. James jumped, head colliding with the football, sending it flying towards the goalie.

The goalie - broad-yet-impressively-quick Marcus Killinger - stopped it dead in its tracks with one of his massive hands. Marcus paused for a few moments, scanning the field whilst his teammates repositioned. Finally finding an opening to Patrick Williams, George mentally commentated on how much of a foolish move it had been. With the game winning goal so close it wasn't acceptable to makes moves such as that as he was mere feet from Patrick.

Swooping in before Patrick had the chance to move George leaped up and headed the football in the direction of one of his teammates.

"Oi, Crawley where'd you come from?!" he cried to George who was making his way back down the makeshift pitch.

"Sorry, Pat! No way I'm losing again."

The football crossed between the other eight men so fast he could hardly keep up until James was back in control, waiting for their prince to come in and save the day.

George sprinted ahead, flanking the entire team of five and waiting on the other side of Marcus for James to act. Eyes darting between James, the ball, and the goal, George wondered if this was how professional players felt before they were about to score.

With little time to ponder the thought James had sent it soaring over the heads of everyone else and right towards him. Watching and waiting for it to come right into position, George had to do nothing more than jump and hit the football accordingly. As if in slow-motion, he observed as Marcus attempted to stop the ball and the ball graze right past his fingertips, past the goal-line, and hitting the concrete retaining wall behind him.

His team erupted in cheers and George quickly joined them. Receiving many excited pats and praise, he was eventually pulled into a brief huddle of sweaty, cheerful comrades.

"Drinks are on the losing team tonight!" James shouted with a bright grin on his face. "All thanks to our very own Prince George!" George flared is nostrils, wishing he'd never revealed his social status. Despite himself, he couldn't help but grin along with them. It felt brilliant to be the savior of the game.

"Crawley!" called Major Falcone from under the pavilion where he had been quietly waiting for their game to finish.

They all stopped in their tracks and saluted, immediately dismissed by the Major. He was a kind man; caring for those he had to but not hesitating to demand respect.

"At ease, Crawley," he approached, making his way through the others who were now heading back towards the barrack. He looked uncomfortable, pity in his eyes when he glanced at George. "There's a telegram for you. It arrived just a few minutes ago." Between his middle and index Major Falcone held a paper thin telegram, the ink still wet and glistening on the post.

George dare not look at it.

Pity from a highly trained, highly guarded man could only mean that there was something terrible written on this paper.

Major Falcone raised his right hand to his temple and George followed suit. Only the Major dropped his hand onto George's shoulder for a deafening moment before regaining his composure and turning to go.

George swallowed, hands beginning to shake as he lifted the telegram from his side and began to read.

_George, I write to regrettably to inform you that your dear grandfather, the Earl of Grantham, suddenly and unexpectedly died this morning, Aug. 21st. Arrangements have been made for you to return home early tomorrow, Aug. 22__nd__, at 9am from King's Cross Station. I'm very sorry, son. We'll see you tomorrow. Your Father._

His heart sank into the pit of his stomach. He felt lightheaded and woozy.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be. It had to be some kind of mistake.

He read it again. And again. And even a third time just to be sure it wasn't a cruel joke.

Their address was at the top. Their address was at the top and so was the military base's. Their address was at the top as well as the military base's and it was addressed to him. But it couldn't be. It just couldn't.

Somehow he'd made his way over to the table under the pavilion and shakily plopped into a chair. He was breathing quite unevenly and it took a few minutes of blurry vision for him to realize his eyes were filled with tears.

George glanced down to the telegram once more. It was flat on the table and the creases blew gently along with the wind.

_Your Father._

Staring at that lone phrase, George pictured his father writing these words and halting at the decision he now had when it came to his signature. As of today his father, the young solicitor from Manchester that had arrived at Downton twenty-nine years ago as the new heir, was now the Earl of Grantham.

* * *

_August 24__th__, 1941_

He didn't know how to feel really. For the most part he just roamed around, moving from room to room, listening to the dead words spoken by everyone else.

For once his presence brought little joy back into the house. There was a chilled and dark presence in the very air that they breathed. It had been nearly four days ago since the dreaded events had taken place and they all still couldn't quite comprehend it. How do you grasp the gritty realism that only death can bring?

It was a heart attack that killed the Earl of Grantham. He'd woken in the darkness of the early morning, heaving and choking. He didn't say a word as Cora had flicked on the lamp and asked him what was the matter. Then, realizing what was happening, she'd flung open the door and screamed for help. She received Tom and Sybil moments later and Matthew and Mary soon after, but it was too late for any sort of miracle. Mary sent for the doctor but by the time he'd arrived nearly a half hour later Robert had already been gone for twenty-seven minutes.

They'd ordered the children back to their rooms, downstairs, anywhere but the bedroom where their grandfather's body now lay and their grandmother stood weeping beside it.

George remembered his pale Aunt Sybil telling the story the evening he arrived shortly after Cora had retired for the night. His grandmother was grey to look at with red eyes and sunken-in skin. She hadn't spoken a word at dinner, ate little, and made the brief excuse of a headache to pardon herself from anymore social contact before she finally broke. They all sat in silence whilst Sybil retold the fateful occurrence, her words settling a terrible knot in his stomach and forcing him to put down his fork.

Now, he glanced around at the large body of people gathered around the hole in the ground. He found it surreal - all these people and he'd only ever seen maybe half of them. Staring in the faces of his grandfather's mourners made him recognize just how many lives an Earl was a part of. From friends and family to clients to other royal families, he was a figure of influence to so many.

Despite the unfamiliar faces, his entire family was there as well. His aunts and uncles and cousins; they were all there. Normally George would be overjoyed to spend time with the family he didn't get to see very often, but there would be no delight in this occasion.

Throughout the entire service, he could think of nothing besides the night his grandfather had died. Oddly enough, he was jealous that he wasn't there. He was angry he hadn't been there to help, even if there was nothing to be done. He was angry he hadn't been able to comfort his grandmother or his mother or even his siblings. Most of all he was angry because he couldn't remember the last words they'd spoken to each other. When he'd left after Elizabeth's debutante what had he said in parting? He was sure it was something mutual but the fact he couldn't recall it was the part that agitated him.

By the time the minister dismissed the crowd George was so mentally drained he immediately headed for the gate. Fists in his pockets and feet making haste, he inwardly groaned when he heard his name called. He stopped in the gravel, turning slowly, surprised to see what he did.

"Emma?"

Some of the tension in his head relieved at the sight of her, as beautiful and the same as she was two months ago.

She stopped in front of him, giving him a pitiful smile.

"I'm sorry I didn't let you know I was coming. I wasn't aware the funeral was today until yesterday morning when my father sent my a telegram."

"It's alright. I'm glad you're here. I don't know any of these people, so you're very much welcomed," he replied quietly. They watched one another a long moment, causing him to smile for the first time in four days.

Emma noted the redness in his eyes, the dark-circles and pale skin. It was obvious he hadn't slept in a few nights, most likely not eaten much in that timespan either.

"My family sends their love as well. They wanted to be here but papa had work," she stated, earning nothing but a curt nod. "I'm very sorry about your grandfather, George. He was obviously very loved," she said gently, reaching out to touch his arm.

The fist in his pocket released and George was so grateful for her in this moment that he couldn't quite put it into words.

"Thank you," he hoarsely whispered, clearing his throat after. "Would you come back for lunch? Of course all these people I don't know will be there, but if you came it would be a little more bearable."

Emma smirked, but let her hand fall back to her side. "I wish I could, but I have to catch the train in an hour." Watching his face drop, she quickly came up with an idea that may interest him. "Could you walk me to the station? I still don't know this town very well and perhaps we could stop to eat before I leave."

George smiled at her offer, gazing back to the cemetery where the large group was beginning to form in preparation for the walk to the house. He located his family – his mother and father talking half-heartedly to a couple whilst his grandmother stood off to the side, staring into the distance with tired eyes.

He looked back to her and sighed. "Thank you...but I shouldn't. My family-"

"Of course, I understand. You should be with your family." George nodded, eyes burdened and glassy. "I would do the same if it were me," Emma replied softly, shifting her eyes to the ground, then remembering the one item in her clutch. "I brought this for you," she spoke into the bag as her delicate fingers reached into it, pulling out a thin picture between her thumb and index. "We had our portraits taken at school recently and I wanted to give one to you. Really this one was supposed to be for my great-aunt Catherine, but don't tell her that."

George took the picture from her and smiled at the self-preserved version of Emma; looking at a point to the left of the camera, dressed in her nurses uniform, and flashing her heartbreakingly beautiful smile. He nearly cried of joy at the sight. This was something good. This was something that he could look at in the bad moments and remember the debutante - the feel of her hand in his, the sputter of his heart when she touched his skin, the warmth that radiated through his entire body when they kissed – it could all easily come back and fill him.

His thumb brushed over the coarse photograph and he let out a choke of laughter, looking up at her with what he was sure were tears in his eyes.

"Thank you. Truly. I shall look to it for comfort always. Only I wish I had something to give you in return," he said, placing the picture in his breast pocket for safekeeping.

Emma hummed, glancing up at him with a sportive nature. "Well, lucky for you I know quite a good photographer in London. He was an old friend of my parents. I'm not sure if his studio is still there, but if a bomb hasn't struck it you'll find the address on the back of that photograph."

George nearly grinned. She was always one step ahead of him. Always knew exactly what she wanted.

He barely had time to react before she stepped forward to wrap her arms around his frame, pressing her figure against his own. It was a numbing moment – a good numbing. For those brief seconds, all the agony and pain that filled his every nerve was gone. "Please take care of yourself, darling," she whispered in the crook of his neck. There was a beat, then she pulled away to kiss his cheek, leaving him warm and steady. Emma gave him one last sympathetic smile then turned away and left.

He stood in place a few minutes, watching until she was nearly out of his sight. As she rounded the corner he turned to began the long walk home. It was only then when the light air blew against his face that George noticed his face was damp with tears. He quickly dried off with his sleeves, using the heel of his palms to clear his vision. His moment of happiness was over, now replaced with the heavy weight of suffering and absence.

He caught up to his grandmother who was now alone in the middle of the road, walking ever so slowly on the gravel path. How odd it was to see the her no longer walking in stride with the Earl.

George met at her side and offered his arm in silence. He gave her a brief sad smile before directing his eyes forward, just like in the attention position.

He heard her sniff then felt her weak grip on his forearm, and together they led the formation that had settled behind them back to their home.

* * *

_5:00pm_

As evening cast its daily shadow on the abbey and most of the guests said their last condolences and departed, Cora felt a sense of dread. Soon she must climb the stairs, change out of the mourning clothes, and spend the night in an empty bed. This was the dread of loneliness. It was smothering, rooting her to the spot where she sat on the sofa.

For fifty-one years she knew nothing but the feel of him next to her in sleep. When they'd first married she couldn't bare sleeping next to someone with such a broad presence. She despised his snoring and how much heat he gave off. Eventually she came to live with these annoyances, drowning out the snoring and coming to find comfort in his warmth.

The past nights Cora spent alone were the most unpleasant, bitterly chilled she'd ever experienced. Since there was no use in sleeping she stayed awake, staring at the divot in the mattress where he used to lay. From now on the depression would be yet another reminder of his absence, mocking what strength she had left.

Noticing that the room had grown quiet, Cora realized she was now alone as everyone else must have finally gone. She wrestled with the dread, nearly beating it when the door to the Library opened and in stepped Mary, looking quite worn and as defeated as she did.

Mary gave a pitiful smile, coming to sit next to Cora. They remained in silence a few moments as Mary gathered the courage to speak making Cora nearly snap at her normally blunt-tongued daughter.

"I don't know what to say, Mama," Mary began, eyes fixed on the rug. "I have no words for how I feel, which makes me wonder how much worse you're feeling," she said quietly, finally gazing up at her.

"Don't pity me, Mary," Cora said in a dulcet tone, fidgeting in her seat. "I know my place now. I have nothing left to do but pack my things and move to the Dowager House."

"Of course not," Mary broke in. They locked eyes for a tense moment. "Certainly you don't expect us to make you leave so soon? You can stay for however long you'd like. It's the least Matthew and I can offer."

Cora glanced away, unable to look her daughter in the face out of fear she may betray herself and break the image of unity she worked to hard to maintain. Instead, she reached out and gripped Mary's fingers as a way of showing the gratitude and pride that filled her.

"Thank you, darling," she managed to whisper, wrestling with the tears that pooled in her eyes. Releasing the grasp on her fingers, Cora gave Mary a watery smile.

Dammit.

She quickly looked away once more, focusing intently on her lap to calm her system.

Never did Cora worry much about showing her emotions but in this given situation it was different. It was a type of state that didn't just go away over night. It was going to take so long to be rid of this pain. Given that it was a lingering dark cloud, she knew she might as well grin and bear it as there was no foreseeable end to its presence in the near future. So the best possible solution was to bottle herself up and wait for it to pass.

"I pray you never have to know what this feels like," Cora spoke, shaking her head solemnly.

Mary silently agreed. Although she knew death was inevitable, it was a terrifying thought that one day she may have to live without Matthew.

* * *

_12:27am_

They'd been lying there for nearly three hours now. Matthew never bothering to call for the valet as it still seemed inappropriate to use Robert's. Mary just not quite in the mood to change yet. So there they lay, in their black day clothes, staring up at the ceiling in comfortable silence, his arm wedged under her back and her head on his shoulder.

"Sybil told me Tom is eager to get back to Dublin," she broke the silence, momentarily startling him out of his own thoughts.

"I don't blame them," Matthew replied. "I would be too. Even though they aren't, I would feel like a burden if I had no other choice but to rely on another man's pension. It's against Tom's nature, you know that."

Mary nodded. "Yes, I suppose it is. He always was headstrong, wasn't he?"

Matthew nearly scoffed. "He managed to convinced Sybil to runaway with him in the middle of the night. Yes, he's quite the driven chap," he mocked humorously, causing Mary to laugh lightly.

They both fell back into silence; into the dismal thoughts that they couldn't escape as hard as they tried.

Every now and then the breath would leave Mary out of disbelief that this was reality. For years it was such a task to find an heir, to train that heir, and have a foreseeable future with little-to-no complications. This was planned. Her father's death was a plan that almost her entire life had been centered around. Her meeting Matthew and having his first born son was all a plan for what would happen after death. It all seemed so stupid when you took a step back and reevaluated the entire situation. At the expense of her father's death and family's heartbreak here now sat the new Lord and Lady Grantham with crowns on their heads.

Tears welled in her eyes but she forcefully choked them back, desperate to keep composure.

"Does this seem real to you?" Mary whispered into the stillness of the night.

Matthew paused.

"No," he sighed deeply and shook his head. "Not for one minute has this seemed real. I've been dreading becoming Earl for so many years because I knew the price that came with it. My heart aches for you of course, and everyone else...but for none as much as your mother."

She silently agreed. The thought of the former Countess alone in what was formerly _their_ bedroom troubled Mary profoundly. Impulsively, she reached over the front of his jacket and gripped it protectively.

"As a young girl, finding out that the man I would one day marry would take my papa's place was enough for me to swear it off for as long as possible, making it one of the reasons I was bitter towards any man that was thrown my way...as you know first hand," she mumbled, causing him to smile.

All these years later and she would never truly forgive herself for the way she treated him the few months they'd met. Even then, she wouldn't forgive herself for the years they wasted being too proud and uncertain of the others feelings. She should have damned propriety. She should have damned every single judgement that may have passed her and just confessed every single desire of her heart. It was by pure fate that they made it through eight years, two separate engagements, and a war, and still came out on the other side.

Matthew hummed. Normally he would reply with something witty right about now, but any spark inside him had died long ago. "I'm happy you decided to give me a chance," he replied weakly, growing tired with each moment that passed.

"There is one good thing that has come from this," she began after awhile. Matthew, not wanting to break their position, gave the ceiling an expectant look. "For the time being all of our children are under the same roof once more."

Indeed the thought of all four children safely sleeping in their four-poster beds made the giant weight on his shoulders shrink significantly. He smiled, kissing the top of her head.

"Quite the optimist you've become," he half-heartedly bantered, earning a hum in return.

"I have been trying," Mary sleepily replied, fiddling with the button on his coat. He watched her a moment, feeling quite helpless.

When his own father had died Matthew remembered more or less being useless when it came to comforting his mother. Sure he could sit there and hold her hand, or rub her back, but in the end it was all futile and left him feeling suchlike an intruder on her grieving. Leading him to spend most of his time locked up his room, cursing their horrible fate and cursing himself for not being the brave man he was raised to be.

Brave was something that had came so easily to his father. In the face of danger Reginald was calm and collected. It was this reason of many that made him an exceptional doctor. He remembered his father as a stern yet patient man; loving yet disciplinary. For many years as a husband and father, Matthew worked as hard as he could to become this man in all aspects. And although he would sell himself short, in many ways he wasn't even aware, Matthew was much like his father. In the most natural ways possible Isobel would see her beloved husband radiate through him. He was gentle and caring and always put others before himself, preferring to sacrifice himself if it concerned the well-being of someone he loved.

"Shall we get changed?" he suggested softly.

Mary declined with a shake of the head, eyes already closed. After nearly four days with nearly no sleep this sight came as a relief. He reached over to switch off the lamp, moving slowly as to not jolt her. Dress clothes were not the most comfortable sleepwear, but if it meant a good night's rest for her then he would suffer in silence.

In the darkness, he prayed for peace for them all. He prayed for a time of relief and a time of hope. He prayed for the protection of his family and their country, and by the time he was finished with his quick prayer Mary had fallen completely asleep.

Listening to her deep breathing Matthew found it easy to relax into his own undisturbed slumber.


End file.
